Invisible Sun
by lightning bird
Summary: In the few years before the advent of Fusion Fall and the invasion by Planet Fusion, friendships are formed, enemies are met, wisdom is gained, and Dexter learns he's not quite as alone as he thinks he is. - AU -
1. Guess Who's Coming to Dinner

**Invisible Sun**

_Life is a pure flame, and we live by an invisible sun within us._

_--_ Sir Thomas Browne, 1658

**OoOoOoOoOoOoO**

A/N: I was wondering the other day exactly how did Dexter make enough money to establish his own corporation? This is my take on the founding of DexLabs and, more importantly, the founding of friendship. The story is set firmly in my A/U and takes place a few years before Planet Fusion starts its invasion of Earth. All mistakes are mine. All characters belong to Cartoon Network. I promise to return them once I'm done playing.

Aneko-Kitana has done some smashing artwork for this story - the link to her deviantART account is in my profile. Look in her scrapbook!

**OoOoOoOoOoOoO**

**Chapter One: Guess Who's Coming to Dinner?**

"Girls! Oh, girls!"

"Yes, Professor?" chimed three voices.

"Come here, please!"

Professor Utonium contemplated the phone still held in his hand. He hung it up as a trio of pretty young girls flew into the room in streaks of pink, blue, and green light and hovered in the air before him. A smile lit his handsome face as he looked at his daughters, and he was rewarded with two wide smiles and a fond frown. It wasn't every man that could live with three super hero children, but in truth he could not imagine life without the Powerpuff Girls. They were maturing beautifully as they aged and their powers were growing with them. In less than two weeks they would be finishing fourth grade, and all of them – the Professor not least among them - were looking forward to the extended summer break.

"What's up, Professor?" asked Blossom, all business as usual.

"I was just on the phone with a very well-known scientist. He's in the area and wants to consult with me on robotics, so I invited him to come over for dinner tonight so we can talk."

Bubbles clapped her hands. "Goody!"

"Great," grumbled Buttercup, crossing her arms. "More boring science talk."

"Now, now!" chided Utonium, amused at their predictable reactions. "I expect all of you to be on your best behavior and make him feel welcome."

"Do you know him?" wondered Bubbles. "Have you met him before?"

"I only know him by reputation, Bubbles. I've never met him. Actually, come to think of it, I don't know anyone that _has_ met him. I don't know where he went to college, but he's published quite a few papers on a wide range of subjects in the past few years. He's a brilliant scientist and one of the world's foremost experts in robotics."

"What time is he coming?" Buttercup quizzed.

"He'll be here at six. Now let's get this place ship shape! Come on! We've only got a few hours. Chop, chop!"

Two giggles and a huff answered, but all three girls set to cleaning with good will. Blossom paused in midair as her sisters zoomed around the house putting things away.

"What's his name, Professor?"

Utonium smiled at her as he answered. "His name is Dexter."

**  
OoOoOoOoOoOoO**

Despite the fact that they anticipated a good meal and dull conversation, Blossom, Bubbles, and Buttercup were increasingly curious about their guest. They watched as the Professor grew more and more pensive as the hour for dinner approached. Utonium chewed on his unlit pipe and paced as if he was pondering some calculation far more vital than how much cinnamon to put in the topping for the apple crisp. The girls exchanged incredulous looks and amazed smiles, recognizing the symptoms. They had learned long ago that the only things that could rattle their father this thoroughly was a pretty woman cornering him or someone he thought was smarter than he was.

"Professor," called Blossom, flying into the kitchen.

"Yes?" he answered too quickly for him _not_ to be uptight.

"Are you nervous about meeting this Mr. Dexter?"

Caught, Utonium replied, "I'm . . . well, yes, a little. I was just remembering some of his published works. His insights into plasma-generated laser technology have pushed that science forward by a decade. I did some checking and it seems our Mr. Dexter is something of a recluse. He doesn't attend conventions or give lectures, but in just a few years he's done a lot for science. It's not every day you get to help someone you admire so much."

"I bet he's just as excited to meet _you_!" defended his daughter. She tilted her head and looked at her father with undisguised pride. "After all, you're smarter than everybody."

"Yeah," piped Bubbles, come to fetch napkins as she and Buttercup set the table, "and you made us!"

"And if _that_ doesn't impress him, he's not much of a scientist!" Buttercup called, making them all laugh.

It was nigh on zero hour. Utonium almost dropped their dessert when the doorbell rang. He gaped at the clock, but the meal was almost ready and their visitor was right on time.

"I'll get it!" called Buttercup, who had stationed herself nearest to the door just so that she could see their guest first. She was eaten up with curiosity to know what sort of scientist it took to make the Professor sweat. Hovering in mid air, she looked out the peep hole in the front door but there was no one there that she could spot. "Weird," she muttered, sinking back to the floor.

The doorbell rang again after a minute. Growing annoyed, she flew up and looked. Still no one there. Was this a joke? Or a trap?

"Buttercup!" Blossom called impatiently from the kitchen when the bell rang a third time.

"There's no one there!" she shouted back, equally impatient, and to prove her point she yanked the door open.

There was a boy about her own age standing on the step. No wonder she hadn't seen him - he was even shorter than she was. Buttercup took in his carroty-orange hair, black-framed glasses, and white jacket at a glance and was not in the least impressed. The boy took a step back and blinked in astonishment as she hovered in the air before him. She reasoned he must either be new to Townsville or a complete moron if he failed to recognize a Powerpuff Girl, but she didn't see that as a reason to be particularly nice, especially since they were expecting company any minute now.

"What do you want, kid?" she demanded, determined to be rid of this scrawny punk. She leveled her best scowl at him.

He looked wholly uncertain of the situation as he carefully asked, "Is this the Utonium residence?"

She couldn't place his accent, and that along with his glasses and his lack of assertiveness instantly annoyed her.

"Yeah," she snapped, "and we don't want any. Go bother the Smiths, shorty! They should be out of jail by now."

And she slammed the door in his face.


	2. Out, Damn’d Spot! Out!

**Invisible Sun **

**Chapter Two: Out, Damn'd Spot! Out!**

Dexter stood on the front step of the house and stared at the bright red door, at once perplexed and astonished. His eyes weren't deceiving him. That girl _had_ been hovering in midair and this _was_ the right address. It had to be. He'd checked and double checked and just to be certain he glanced again at the number on the mailbox by the door. It hadn't changed in the past five minutes; therefore, this _was_ the correct residence. Through the door he could hear the girl yell,

_"Some weird kid. I dunno, I told him to scram."_

He frowned, his indignation growing, and he rang the doorbell again.

_"What?" _demanded the black-haired girl, almost ripping the door off the hinges.

Dexter folded his arms across his chest and glared up at her. "You are very rude."

"And you're annoying!" she countered, imitating his stance. "I told you to beat it!"

"Buttercup! Who's - _oh!_"

A tall, dark-haired man halted a few steps behind the girl, staring. Used to being underestimated and dismissed because of his lack of years, Dexter had learned to hide his age long ago. Very few people knew that one of the greatest and most prolific scientific geniuses in the world was barely out of fourth grade. He raised his chin, letting his arrogance shield him and take the reins as he so often did when offended or put on the defensive, and cast the man a cool, hard look.

"Professor Utonium, I presume?"

"Yes," said the man. "I -"

Utonium stopped, recognizing the accent from their conversation just this afternoon. His eyes grew wide with shock.

"You're -"

He broke off, speechless, as realization hit him. He glanced between Dexter and the black-haired girl and in a rush of understanding, he grasped the ongoing confrontation.

Dexter lowered his arms to fix his glasses and then he automatically clasped his gloved hands at the small of his back. From behind the Professor came two more young girls, bright and curious, that joined in staring at him. Gaping mouths and wide eyes were also something he was very used to, and so he was actually quite comfortable with the change in the situation as he said,

"How do you do, Professor? I'm Dexter."

**OoOoOoOoOoOoO**

The meal got off to a very awkward start. A highly embarrassed and sullen Buttercup was made to apologize, and to make up for their sister's behavior Blossom and Bubbles applied themselves a bit too hard to trying to make Dexter comfortable. Unused to people moving in the blink of an eye, he found himself dropped into an overstuffed chair in the living room a moment after he accepted Professor Utonium's invitation to step inside. A flash of blue passed before him and suddenly there was a drink in his hand.

"Thank you?" he ventured to the empty air as the Professor entered the room by more commonplace means than being airlifted. Glasses askew, Dexter struggled to sit up but the chair was hopelessly soft and did not want to free him. It was like trying to escape a tar pit.

"Girls," he heard Utonium warn his trio of daughters. He held up a hand, and a few disappointed whines came from the hall. "Go check on dinner."

Trying not to spill his drink and at the same time extract himself from the squishy chair, Dexter managed to gain his footing without stumbling as Utonium joined him. Immediately his host offered his hand in greeting and said,

"Please allow me to apologize, Mr. Dexter. You're . . . not what any of us expected."

He looked up at the much taller man and said returned frankness with frankness, finding it impossible to maintain his usual haughty air in the face of such a welcome. He shook the proffered hand, saying, "I hear that often."

"I'm sure you do." Utonium smiled, impressed by this young boy's poise. "I can sympathize. My own family isn't exactly conventional."

There was no denying that fact, and Dexter smiled faintly in return, liking this man. "A very good point, sir. Your daughters are the Powerpuff Girls?"

"Yes, they-"

Quiet giggles were heard from the hall. The Professor sighed.

"Girls!" admonished Utonium. "Go!"

Dexter blushed the least bit as more giggles erupted and the girls retreated to the kitchen, but he recovered quickly. "I've heard of them and their exploits. I did not realize you were their father."

"I try to stay in the background as much as I can. It's easier for them to have a life removed from being super heroes."

"They're fortunate to have such an understanding parent," was the boy's thoughtful reply, giving Utonium pause with his insight. "Thank you for inviting me into your home, sir. I greatly appreciate the gesture. And please, just call me Dexter."

"I hope you like chicken francaise, Dexter," Utonium replied.

"I like it very much, Professor."

Perhaps it was the lack of male companionship in the house, or perhaps it was the serious demeanor and intensity of a fellow scientist, perhaps it was because Dexter had tangled with the most difficult of his daughters and did not crow about it, but Utonium found himself warming to this boy. He gestured toward the hall.

"Come on. You must be hungry. Let's eat and then we can talk shop."

Utonium's three daughters were very stiff and anxious to please, while at the same time they were burning with curiosity over their guest. Seated at the square table, with Blossom and Bubbles doubled up on the side opposite the Professor, they were trying to stare politely while at the same time not appear nosy. They were fascinated and amazed that this scrawny young boy - who had to be close to their own age - was quite enough to make their father uneasy. That he wore gloves at the table and to eat intrigued them completely (lab coats being the garb of choice for men in this house, Dexter's high-collared, button-downed coat went unremarked upon), and they had never seen anyone so young wear tinted glasses. Not even Buttercup could keep up her surliness in light of the puzzle this boy presented.

Dexter was quiet and polite and they found themselves trying to get him to talk just because of his pronounced accent, which none of them could place. He seemed to recognize their tactics because his answers were short and to the point and calculated to thwart their attempts. Things would have gone on in this stilted fashion all night had not Bubbles, who was closest to Dexter, provided a distraction that overcame all rigid manners. In her eagerness to make sure Dexter ate enough, she moved too quickly when offering him more carrots. She caught herself, realizing she was moving faster than his reflexes could possibly respond, stopped too abruptly for her momentum, and proceeded to slosh the entire bowl full of buttered carrots down his front and into his lap.

The chaos was instantaneous. Bubbles dropped the bowl on him and let out a piercing wail that caused every dog for half a mile to howl and produced a yelp of surprise out of Dexter. He clapped his hands over his ears, scattering carrots as butter and liquid soaked his coat. Blossom jumped from her seat with a shout of, "Bubbles! No!" Bubbles cried, "Oh, _no_!" at the top of her lungs and fled the room so quickly the pictures on the wall rattled. Buttercup, who was seated across the table opposite Dexter, backed away, shouting, "It wasn't me! I didn't do it! You can't blame me this time!"

"Girls!" called the Professor. He rose, trying to calm them and restore order, but it was too late. They were already on edge and now they instinctively plunged into action. Spilled carrots were perhaps not a disaster even at the best of times, but for girls so used to teamwork and reacting to situations, they found it almost impossible to turn off the heroic impulse no matter how large or small the emergency. Coupled with their desire to impress their father's guest, the Powerpuff Girls went into overdrive and completely overreacted.

"Quick! Before it stains your coat!" cried Blossom, bearing down on Dexter and lifting him clean out of his chair by the forearms. The bowl clattered from his lap to the floor. Dexter gaped at the girl holding him in the air as easily as she'd hold a doll, stunned into speechlessness. "Buttercup, start the washer!"

"On it!"

With a rush of wind that sent napkins flying and knocked over a vase of wild flowers, Buttercup zoomed out.

"Girls!" was the Professor's desperate shout.

Blossom dropped Dexter on his feet and his knees almost buckled at the impact. Carrots flew in all directions as she brushed him off from head to toe. Before he knew what was happening, the pink-dressed girl stripped his lab coat off his back and was gone from the room in a flash of speed, leaving him reeling for balance and still clutching his fork with a piece of chicken on the tines.

"Girls," groaned Utonium in despair, falling into his chair. He dropped his head into his hand, horrified, and didn't dare raise his eyes to the visiting scientist. He could only pray that Dexter wasn't half or three-quarters naked at this point, and that in their enthusiasm his daughters didn't see fit to make off with the boy's trousers as well.

Dexter, meanwhile, stood open-mouthed and blinking in the exact spot where he had been dumped. For a long moment he stared in the direction the three girls had taken. The incident had been so abrupt, so loud, so unexpected, that he was in a mild state of shock. At the head of the table his host sat in an agony of embarrassment. Distantly Dexter could hear the Powerpuff Girls – all three of them, since they had been joined by Bubbles – debating over the best way to remove butter and carrot juice from cotton. He wished they wouldn't bother. He had several other lab coats and it really wasn't worth so much effort, but even at his tender age Dexter recognized when it was useless to argue with women on a mission of mercy.

Stepping through the scattered carrot slices and straightening his glasses, Dexter put the empty bowl back on the table before he pushed his chair in a bit and resumed his seat. He righted the vase of flowers and then sat still, having absolutely no idea of what to do next.

The Professor sighed, finally lifting his head. Words failed him utterly, but he was greatly relieved to see that his guest, though mussed, hadn't run away in terror and still retained his pants and turtle neck. He gave Dexter a desperate look of abject apology, and he was just as lost as the boy as to how to proceed. They exchanged a long look of mutual suffering and understanding, and finally Dexter hesitantly said,

"I . . . have a sister."

That was all, but it was enough. Utonium smiled at him, grateful for his empathy. He searched for something to say, and finally stumbled upon,

"More chicken?"

"Yes, please," Dexter instantly replied. He would have latched onto anything the Professor offered at that point.

They continued the meal in silence for a few minutes, listening to the girls' argument get louder and louder, and the ridiculousness of the situation seemed to hit them both at the same time. Dexter ducked his head, pressing his lips together as he tried not to laugh. The Professor spotted him struggling and put a hand over his own mouth, stifling his response. When finally they dared to look at each other, they both burst out laughing.

The ice broken, they started talking. Utonium's three daughters joined them for dessert and still they talked. The dishes were cleared away, the carrots cleaned up, a freshly laundered and stain-free lab coat returned (with many blushing apologies for the spill, the overreaction, and for manhandling him), and still they talked. The girls said good night and went to bed, and still they talked. Long into the night they sat at the table, discussing their mutual passion for science, finding common ground, sharing humor, building respect . . . and, gradually, becoming friends.


	3. Divide and Conquer

**Invisible Sun**

**Chapter Three: Divide and Conquer**

It wasn't until Dexter yawned and started to nod off in the middle of a discussion about microgravity voids that Utonium remembered that he was talking to a _child _- one that needed sleep. Suddenly guilty, he asked when Dexter was expected home and was heartily relieved to find out he did not have school the next day, public school in his hometown having ended the prior week. Indeed, it seemed Dexter had no plans beyond dinner and consulting with him, and now it was far too late to let him leave here on his own.

"Where are your parents?" pressed the Professor. He expected to hear that they were in Townsville, perhaps on vacation since Dexter had come here alone. He had gotten so caught up in talking peer-to-peer that he had failed to find out more details about his guest.

"Oh," Dexter said, waving his hand dismissively, "they're spending a week in Portland along with my sister."

"Portland . . . Oregon?"

"Yes."

His parents were five states away? Good lord. "They don't know you're here?"

He shrugged. "I told them I was planning a trip to Townsville while they were away. Whether or not they actually _heard _what I said is a completely unrelated matter."

Utonium paused. Dexter's words were delivered in a matter-of-fact, offhanded manner, as if a fourth grader up and traveling hundreds miles away from home was a commonplace thing.

"They don't know you're in Townsville?"

"I told them I was coming here if you would allow." Dexter smiled, thought the gesture did not reach his eyes. "The real question, Professor Utonium, is do they _care?_"

"Do they?" he wondered, his horror growing. He sensed the answer as Dexter adjusted his glasses. Already Utonium recognized the gesture as a delaying tactic the boy utilized to buy time to consider.

"I have no idea," was the softly-spoken, honest reply.

Those four words spoke volumes to Utonium, who suddenly saw so much more than what had been said. He gazed down at this boy genius and for a moment saw not Dexter, but himself. He had not been quite so bold as this until he was several years older, but the Professor had been where this boy now stood - an adult intellect unfettered by age or the knowledge of limitations, brilliant but not yet wise, standing outside of society because he had yet to carve out his niche in this world. His understanding of the plight Dexter would soon face generated a sense of obligation in Utonium. Many people would have envied Dexter, but the Professor knew that without his family behind him, the years ahead would be frustrating and bitter.

Or maybe not. Dexter's honesty was as disarming as his trust, but behind it there were a finality and stubbornness born of someone used to being right. He recognized the symptoms of a person too often left alone. That Dexter was strong-willed and possessed of a mighty temper was evident to a parent used to outstanding children, even though Dexter was out of his element and on his best behavior (as evidenced by his conduct when doused with carrots). What would he be like, wondered Utonium, with parents more involved in his life? The Professor found himself slipping into his fatherly mode. He could not allow him to leave no matter how casually Dexter treated the situation, and so he laid a hand on the boy's narrow shoulder.

"Should you call your parents?"

"No," he replied. "Honestly, Professor, even if they called my house now they know I never bother answering the phone even if I do hear it from my . . . my room. They'll never notice that I've been here, but I'll tell them myself if you prefer."

Slowly Utonium nodded, sensing pain so well concealed that Dexter no longer felt it. He didn't dare ask if the boy had anywhere to stay for the night. He already knew the answer and there was no way Dexter was leaving this house until tomorrow. "If that's the case, then stay the night. We'll talk more in the morning and get you on the afternoon bus back home."

"Thank you," Dexter said, then slowly smiled. "We still haven't had a chance to talk about why I wanted to see you."

"We'll put it top on the list for tomorrow after breakfast. You don't mind camping on the sofa?"

"Not at all, Professor."

"Come on, then. I'll find you a toothbrush."

****

OoOoOoOoOoOoO

Despite the late hour, he tried calling Dexter's house, unable to rest easy without assuring himself that no anxious parents were sitting up wondering where their son was. He reached an answering machine. The message had been recorded by a giggly, squeaky-voiced girl that rambled on about nothing. Dexter's sister, he presumed. Utonium left a message and in the morning he tried again with the same results. Last night he couldn't help but wonder what kind of parents would leave their son home for a week. Now he couldn't help but wonder what kind of parents they were that Dexter would prefer to stay home.

****

OoOoOoOoOoOoO

The three Powerpuff Girls were green with envy when they found out that Dexter's school was already done for the summer. As they headed out - flying to school, the novelty of which was not lost on Dexter - they fully expected him to be waiting there for them when they got back and told him as much. Though he made no promises, Dexter rather found himself hoping that was the case. He had never experienced anyone outside of his family that did not want him to leave without saying good-bye.

"Now," said Professor Utonium, turning on the dish washer as the last traces of breakfast were cleared away, "what can I do for you, Dexter? What did you want to talk to me about?"

"Retractable cascading titanium plate armor for a robotic form," he said without a moment's hesitation. "Most specifically, plating at the moveable joints. I've been trying to develop something strong and light for my Megabot 3000 but any additional armor I incorporate overwhelms the propulsion system. I found out you were the one who developed the DyNaMo unit and studying the news videos of it, I saw the propulsion system is not dissimilar to what I created for the Megabot. I realized you managed to blend strength with mobility and speed, prompting me to contact you."

"Ah. Yeah. The DyNaMo." Utonium grimaced even though Dexter assessment was highly accurate. Ruthlessly effective, the DyNaMo had been renowned for its destructive capability and it had single-handedly driven up insurance rates within the City of Townsville, especially in Little Tokyo. "Well . . . I could tell you, but would you like to see it?"

"Would I?" breathed Dexter, his eyes aglow with a maniacal gleam Utonium recognized from the mirror. "I would _love_ to!"

Dexter's unabashed ecstacy over being allowed to examine the DyNaMo was contagious, and Utonium stood back and watched him with amusement. He found the boy's enthusiasm for the robot rekindled his own interest in it. While Utonium was a geneticist first and foremost, Dexter's admiration for his work filled him with a renewed sense of pride. They spent the whole day in the basement lab as Dexter happily crawled in and out of the DyNaMo, his questions never ceasing. So absorbed were they that they missed lunch and never noticed the passage of time until Blossom came down the stairs.

"Professor! Are you down here?"

"Right here, Blossom!" he called from the back of the lab. "You're early."

She laughed, used to his sense of time. "It's past two-thirty! Is Dexter still here?"

Utonium pointed to the DyNaMo as Dexter, greasy and dusty and completely absorbed, sitting on the floor surrounded by pieces of the armor the Professor had allowed him to remove from the DyNaMo's leg.

"Hi, Dexter!"

He started, dropping the plate he was examining, and whipped around. His eyes flashed with fury and his voice was sharp as he snapped, "DeeDee! Get out of m-"

Seeing Blossom's startled pink eyes, Dexter caught himself, sucking in his breath as he realized he'd almost unleashed his temper on his host's daughter. He scrambled to his feet, blushing scarlet as he hastily stammered,

"M-my apologies, Blossom. You sounded very much like my sister and she . . . has a tendency toward . . . destructiveness."

She looked to set him at his ease, still embarrassed from having yanked the shirt off his back the night before. "That's okay, Dexter. I bet the Professor forgot to feed you lunch."

Utonium groaned, caught but willing to take the blame.

"Professor, Mrs. Martin asked if you could look at her garage door opener again. She can't get her car out and she didn't want us to open the door for her for some reason."

"Again?" muttered the Professor. "It's the battery." He looked at Dexter. "How about a snack and we'll stop for pizza on the way to the station? I'll take care of Mrs. Martin, honey. It won't take long. Is your homework done?"

"I finished already. Buttercup just has math."

He sighed. Buttercup and math were a volatile combination, one that caused him much concern. "Okay. We'll be up in a few minutes." Looking to Dexter, he asked, "So, is there anything - Dexter, what's wrong?"

He swallowed anxiously. "I'm sorry I snapped, sir."

Utonium smiled. "Dexter, I've got three ten-year-old daughters. They've spent about half their lives snapping at each other and they're all still alive. Don't worry about it. I take it your sister has . . ."

"Cost me a _fortune_," he grumbled tightly. "Yes."

"I have an older brother. He was captain of the high school football team and acted like it. I know exactly what you mean."

"Professor, may I contact you if I have more questions?"

"Of course. You can come back, too, if you need more hands-on work with the DyNaMo."

"Thank you," said the redhead with deep sincerity, and somehow Utonium knew that Dexter was thanking him for far more than the invitation. With equal conviction he answered,

"The pleasure has been mine, Dexter."

****

OoOoOoOoOoOoO

While Buttercup battled it out with her homework, the Professor left for a few minutes with Bubbles and Blossom to rescue old Mrs. Martin from her garage door opener. Given a choice of snacks, Dexter opted for a banana and some milk to hold him over until they went for pizza. Draining the last drops of milk, he set the glass in the sink and turned as Buttercup let out a little sound of annoyance. She was chewing on her pencil, staring at the calculations on the paper before her. Smelling math in the vicinity, Dexter hesitantly approached. She looked up as he stood in the doorway of the dining room, gazing at him with assessing green eyes.

"You guys have fun in the lab?" she finally asked.

"Yes, thank you. A great deal of it."

She bent back over her school work. "Sorry again about yesterday."

He took that as an invitation and drew nearer. "That's all right. I apologize for calling you rude."

She huffed a small laugh. "Why? I was."

With a little shrug he dismissed the incident. If he was to be welcomed back here there was no room for grudges, and he very much wanted to return. Besides, he found himself liking the Utonium family and he wanted to be on good terms with them all. Buttercup, it appeared, was the biggest challenge he faced. "What are you working on?"

"Math," she admitted in a surly tone. "If I don't pass the test on Tuesday, I'll have to go to summer school." Buttercup sighed, revolted at the notion of wasting a perfectly good summer because of a pack of uncooperative numbers. "I hate math."

"I love math," he replied, pulling a chair next to hers. "What is it you're stuck on?"

"Long division. I'm lousy at it."

"Show me."

Professor Utonium returned twenty minutes later to the sound of excited voices in the dining room. Moving quietly, he was just in time to see Buttercup let out an exclamation of understanding and enthusiastically attack her math homework with an eraser. She blew the flakes of rubber away and rewrote her answer.

"So I slide the decimal over _here_ a space!"

"Correct," Dexter said, kneeling on a chair and pointing to the page. "From this point on the remainder will be a fraction of a whole number. No, no, Buttercup, keep the columns aligned as you drop the numbers down. It will be less confusing." He took a piece of paper and wrote another division problem. "Here. Try this. It won't divide evenly."

"Well, then what?" she demanded, ever impatient.

"I'll show you when you get there."

"Can you write out the steps?"

"If you like."

A wave of fondness and gratitude swept over the Professor as he watched Dexter tutor his daughter. He had tried time and again to help Buttercup to understand and so had Blossom, but math was for her the biggest hurdle in grade school. To see her excited over this sudden breakthrough in comprehension filled him with relief, because he knew she would chafe and rebel at summer school. Silently he stepped away, letting them work a little longer, enjoying the lilt of Dexter's Russian accent (Russian! How on earth did he come to have a _Russian _accent?) and his daughter's terse replies. He was surprised as Dexter firmly corrected her. Not many people wanted to tangle with the most aggressive of the Powerpuff Girls, but in the face of math being used incorrectly, the boy seemed fearless.

And Buttercup, seizing the lifeline that would grant her freedom all summer, listened.

****

OoOoOoOoOoOoO

Since he had failed in his role as host to feed Dexter since breakfast, Utonium stopped in Townsville at the girls' favorite pizzeria for dinner on their way to the bus station. The cook and wait staff cheerfully greeted them by name, but Dexter seemed a touch taken aback when Bubbles called to the grizzled cook,

"And this is our friend, Dexter!"

Immediately he was accosted and made welcome while the hostess loudly despaired that he was too skinny and had to eat. In minutes a lavish repast was spread before them and the girls set to their meal with their usual enthusiasm. Dexter ate slowly, carefully observing the dynamics of families and friends, unaware that he was being just as carefully observed by Utonium.

The Professor liked this boy. Genius aside, the inevitable flashes of superiority and temper aside, the simple fact that Dexter had been daring enough to seek help, traveled so far to visit a total stranger, and then had not been intimidated when faced by some of the world's most powerful super heroes _and_ had helped Buttercup figure out long division, impressed Utonium. He saw a great deal of himself in their guest and his heart went out to Dexter, knowing how difficult it was to be a child prodigy.

Dexter actually blushed a bit when Buttercup began bragging to her sisters how he had helped her with her math homework. Utonium smiled at his reaction, rightly suspecting that Dexter was socially inept. Trapped between adulthood and childhood for now and for many years to come, he had no peers and few people to whom he could relate. Fortunately his daughters were unconscious of the stigmas Dexter must invariably face in his own school, aware of their own status and capabilities but seeing no reason to flaunt their powers. They accepted his intelligence as part of whom and what he was and looked beyond that for the person inside.

No wonder he was so surprised to be named their friend. The Professor wondered if there had ever been occasion in his life where Dexter had been made welcome not for his intellect, but for himself. Judging by the look in his eyes, probably not.

"Thanks to our very own Professor Dexter over there, I _own_ division," Buttercup was loudly claiming, much to the amusement of Bubbles and Blossom and the embarrassment of Dexter.

Utonium leaned across the table toward her. "Oh, yeah? Care to put your money where your mouth is, missy?"

"Bring it on!"

Laughing, he took his place mat and on the back wrote out a long division problem he knew she could handle. With her sisters leaning over her shoulders to see, Buttercup worked her way through it. Thrilled to see her enthusiasm, Bubbles and Blossom exchanged wide smiles, and after a minute or so the leader of the Powerpuff Girls announced,

"Read 'em and weep, Professor!"

He snatched the paper back and slowly smiled to see that she had solved it.

"Gimme something with a decimal," challenged Buttercup.

"Careful!" warned Bubbles, who was only slightly better at math than Buttercup.

She glanced at Dexter as she plunged into the next problem, and he smiled and nodded to reassure her as she made a little half-circle gesture with her finger to indicate moving the decimal point. Catching the Professor's appreciative gaze, Dexter inclined his head in silent acknowledgment as Utonium mouthed _'Thank you,'_ to him. A moment later, as Bubbles squealed in delight, Buttercup loudly and proudly proved that she did indeed own division.

Over ice cream and cannoli Blossom suddenly let out an "Oh!" of inspiration. She leaned over and whispered to Buttercup, who whispered to Bubbles, who gasped and nodded and sent a message back the same way. This exchange went on for a few moments, and then three sweet voices chimed in unison,

"Professor!"

"Yes, girls?" he responded, amused.

Blossom, resident lawyer and diplomat, immediately said, "Well, we get out of school on the 26th."

"Yes, you do," agreed their father when she paused for dramatic effect.

"And we're having that barbeque to celebrate on the 27th."

"Yes, we are."

"Please, please, please, please, please can we invite Dexter?" begged Bubbles, unable to endure the build-up any more.

The Professor smiled. "It's your party, so you girls can invite anyone you like. He's sitting right here – why don't you just ask him?"

Immediately they swooped down on the startled boy, all of them talking at once, pleading, demanding, insisting that he _had _come back to help them celebrate their escape from the fourth grade. Buttercup declared he _needed_ to come see how well she did on her math test and Bubbles rattled off all the foods that would be served while Blossom pled their case for his presence. So excited were they that all three of them missed his reaction.

"Girls!" called the Professor when it looked as if Dexter's nerves were about to crack at being set upon by the trio. Intelligent and friendly girls were beyond his experience, it seemed. "Calm down. Give him a moment to think. Bubbles, sit down again, honey."

They obeyed, suddenly aware of how loud they had been and how they had startled their father's guest. Nervously, they all stole glances at Dexter, afraid they had frightened him off. Utonium said in measured tones,

"If your parents will let you come, you'll be welcome to stay with us again, Dexter. Come for the weekend. That'll give us a chance to talk about plating for the Megabot as well."

If math tests, food, and arguments couldn't tempt him, science certainly could. Dexter considered, weighing having to be social against the chance to talk with a like mind again, and finally he said,

"I'll have to ask my parents."

Their joy at even this indefinite answer was absolute. Dexter watched them celebrate and wondered at their excitement to include him. This family was unlike any other he had ever known, and they surprised him at every turn with their trust and generosity. Perhaps it would be fun to let them surprise him again. On sudden impulse he said,

"I'll be there. I promise."

And in all his life he could not remember a time he had made people so happy as at that moment, himself included.


	4. Patent Pending

**Invisible Sun**

**Chapter Four: Patent Pending**

"So," said Dexter's father, even more predictable than the tide as he scooped out some macaroni salad onto his plate, "what's everybody up to this weekend?"

He asked the exact same question every Thursday night as soon as they sat down to dinner. It was almost as if he had been programmed. Dexter had even known him to ask that while the whole family was on vacation, as if they could or would make plans independent of family activities in such a case.

DeeDee immediately chimed up, "MeeMee and LeeLee and me are going to practice on Saturday and then go for ice cream. We're learning a new dance for the recital called Woodland Fairy Sparkles, so we'll be staying an extra hour after class."

"That's nice," said their mother on cue, equally as predictable as her husband. "Dexter, do you have any plans?"

He'd been waiting for this moment for almost two weeks, and he kept his voice casual only with great effort. "As a matter of fact, yes, I do, Mom."

That was actually nothing unusual. He was always up to something, though they all immediately assumed he would be busy with his inventions or working on blueprints or something technical. Still, some aspect of his demeanor, something in his voice or mannerisms let slip that he was anxious and roused his sister's suspicions.

"What are you up to?" DeeDee squeaked. She was wise enough to know that her little brother's plans had to be something extraordinary and beyond the confines of his laboratory if he actually made a public announcement that he was _doing _something. Dexter's idea of fun was tinkering, which was a compulsive habit for him, and he rarely made plans that didn't involve complex technology and lasers and radioactive materials.

He took a deep breath and carefully replied, "I've been invited to spend the weekend at a friend's house."

Activity at the dinner table came to an abrupt halt and all eyes turned to Dexter at this unprecedented announcement. He sighed, having known he would get this exact result. He wondered briefly if predictability was hereditary and if he was doomed (on a genetic level, at least) to end up like his parents. They stared in astonishment. Which part of his statement struck them as the most amazing - the fact that he had a friend or the fact that this person wanted to spend so much time with him? He was fairly certain that the novelty of their only son socializing would be enough for them to grant permission for him to go, and, predictably, he was right.

"Well that's great!" his father exclaimed. "Celebrate! Have some pasta salad."

Dexter stared at the goopy mess dropped onto his plate, foiling his plan to avoid the stuff altogether. DeeDee was eating some, so it must be edible. Or perhaps not. She had a remarkable constitution. Far superior to his own.

"Thanks, Dad," he said warily.

"Have we met him, honey?" asked his mother, passing him a plate of chicken.

"N-no," he admitted, taking the smallest piece of chicken he could see. Nothing about the meal appealed to him. It wasn't that he was finicky, it was just that his mother had a knack for dehydrating chicken. "I met him while you were in Portland. The family name is Utonium."

"Oh?" asked his mother, intent on pouring herself some juice. "What's his first name?"

Dexter blinked, realizing he had no idea. Blithely he handed his mother the rolls to distract her as he said, "Professor."

"That's an odd name," commented his father. Mom hummed in agreement.

Dexter met DeeDee's eyes across the table and they shared a moment of understanding. Their parents were a pair to talk about odd names, considering their choices for their children.

"So, what will you be doing there?"

Dexter tried his very best to be nonchalant as he dug into his meal. "His family is having a barbecue tomorrow. We'll talk about robotics and . . ." He shrugged, deciding the truth was too strange to be believed, and so added, "Hang out with the Powerpuff Girls all weekend."

"Video games?" asked his father, vaguely recognizing the name of the super hero team.

"Those, too, I'm sure," agreed Dexter, ready for more questions but not about to offer more details unless pressed. As usual, his parents did not delve any further than the surface of the issue.

"Sounds like fun."

"I think so."

"Dancing sounds like more fun," DeeDee sang under her breath.

"Classifying slime mold spores sounds more stimulating than Wooden Fairy Sparkles," Dexter shot right back.

"_Woodland_ Fairy Sparkles," she corrected fiercely, falling for it. "_Land_, not _–en_."

Dexter rolled his eyes and sang in true little brother fashion, "Only you care, DeeDee." He looked between his parents. "Can I go?"

"Yeah! Go have fun!" his father enthused, still amazed that his son was willingly leaving the house.

"Leave us the number there, dear," his mother said, "and call if you need anything."

"I will," Dexter promised them both, smiling and quietly thrilled. "Thank you for letting me go."

"So, what did everyone do today?" his father asked, initiating the second wave of predictable questions. For once Dexter didn't care. His escape was planned and the weekend was his.

**OoOoOoOoOoOoO**

"Didn't you _ever_ play ultimate Frisbee?" Buttercup howled in disbelief, scandalized as he broke the tragic news to her. They were midway through the barbecue and everyone – even Dexter – was having a good time. A pick-up game of Frisbee, however, was not on his agenda despite her efforts to get him to play.

He folded his arms across his chest, gazing up at her where she hovered five feet off the ground. "Did you ever split an atom?"

"Of course not!"

Dexter shrugged. "Well, there you have it, Buttercup. I have."

"What has splitting atoms got to do with Frisbee?"

He tossed the disk back to her. "Both are based in physics."

The Powerpuff Girl groaned. "You're impossible! This is supposed to be fun, not math, Dexter!"

"Math is fun."

"I'm not getting through to you, am I?"

"No, but I invite you to keep trying."

Professor Utonium, watching them from his station by the grill, just laughed and shook his head to see such polar opposites still trying to find common ground. Bubbles and Blossom got along perfectly well with the boy, but he and Buttercup seemed to go out of their way to lock horns. It was clear the two children liked each other, but he was certain neither knew why. They had gotten off on a rocky start and each seemed to enjoy irritating the other. In truth, though, Dexter could do no wrong in Buttercup's eyes since with his help she had passed her math test with a far better grade than anyone anticipated. The girls simply couldn't see what their father could - for the first time in their lives, they had someone that acted like a brother. Whether it was an older brother or younger it was impossible to say just yet, but Utonium recognized all the signs of sibling relations and rivalry so unbalanced as to be harmless.

"You're off the hook for now, Dexter, but I swear I'm gonna find something we both like to do!" she threatened.

"We both like to eat," he offered sarcastically.

Buttercup snorted. "Ha! You don't like eating! If you did, you'd do it more!"

That hit home, and it was Dexter's turn to snort. Just to prove her wrong he ate some more chocolate pie.

Eventually – inevitably – Dexter ended up sitting with the handful of teachers and he was quite happy to learn that the girls' kindergarten teacher, Ms Keane, had a degree in physics and knew her way around the laws of gravity. She seemed delighted in his interest and he was glad to find someone that could grasp his vocabulary. It wasn't until an hour or so into their conversation that Dexter realized she thought he was a foreign exchange student.

"Did you learn all this in your home country?" she asked, charmed by his intelligence and strange mode of dress.

"Um . . . yes?" He failed to see the point of the question and couldn't quite grasp what she was driving at. "I was born here in the United States, Ms. Keane."

She blinked. "But . . . I thought you were Russian."

"You did? Why?"

"Your accent!"

"I have one?" was his wide-eyed response. "Really?"

Ms Keane was flummoxed, but there was an amused gleam in Dexter's eyes that betrayed him to his friend. Utonium just smiled and carried on grilling food. If Dexter couldn't hold his own he was, at the very least, more than capable of sowing enough confusion to act as a smokescreen, and so the Professor didn't worry.

**OoOoOoOoOoOoO**

"Professor?"

Hiding behind his third cup of coffee, Utonium did his very best not to smile at the sight of Dexter hauling with all his might on a bolt that was proving to be at least as stubborn as he was. He gripped a wrench almost half his size as he threw all his weight into the struggle. Considering that he weighed, perhaps, seventy-five pounds soaking wet, the Professor knew the outcome of the battle was pre-determined. Dexter possessed the tenacity of a terrier, though if the bolt loosened now he'd go flying.

"Yes?"

Dexter's boots slid slowly across the smooth floor as he waged his one-man war against the ornery mechanism. The Professor was letting him dismantle more of the plating on the DyNaMo so that he could see how it overlapped and locked together. Dexter's loud appreciation for every new discovery and innovation was payment enough for Utonium, but seeing him so excited and hard at work was pure enjoyment. Things had been going swimmingly until this point, with the situation disintegrating into the classic conflict of man versus machine.

"I wanted to . . . rrrr!" He yanked on the wrench, wearing himself out with his efforts. "Ask you . . . if you could – ach! Come on, you stupid-" He broke off, panting, hanging on the wrench and glaring at the offending bolt before finishing his statement. "If you could recommend a good patent lawyer."

A thousand questions flashed through Utonium's mind at this unexpected request, but he pushed them aside for another time. For now, he was more intrigued than anything else. Why was he surprised by _anything_ this boy said? "Yes. I know several excellent ones. The one I use most often is right here in Townsville. She's the best one I know. I could introduce you to her if you like."

"I would appreciate that," was Dexter's serious reply. He seemed surprised and relieved that he wasn't being questioned as to why he asked after a patent lawyer, but Utonium knew how frustrating it was to have your every action and inquiry questioned even when a person's curiosity was innocent. Dexter would tell him in his own good time.

"I'll call her today. Want a hand?" He gestured at the bolt.

"Please."

It was tighter than he thought. In moments Utonium was straining just as hard as Dexter had been.

"I wanted to use a force field to protect the girls," he hissed, "but I was in a rush to get it done."

Dexter stood before him, his small hands gripping the wrench and they plied together.

"I plan to use a self-contained force field to shield the Megabot 4000 series," grunted the boy. "I have to perfect the neo-neurotonic proto core first to . . . generate enough . . . power!"

His sweaty hands slipped. Dexter bumped into Utonium, knocking them both away. The wrench clattered to the floor as the older man steadied his fellow scientist. He looked down at the redhead.

"Wait. What are we doing, Dexter?"

He looked straight up at him. "Um . . . we're fighting harder, not smarter?"

"Precisely. It's a good thing whoever called us geniuses can't see us now." He grinned, and then called up the stairs, "Girls!"

Three streaks of lights later, three young girls hovered in the air before them.

"What's up?" asked Blossom.

Utonium handed over the wrench and pointed. "Loosen that bolt for us, please."

Blossom gaped at them. Bubbles giggled. Buttercup laughed outright.

"What are you guys? Wimps?" she exclaimed.

"And proud of it," her father replied smugly when he saw the leader of the Powerpuff Girls straining just as hard as the wimps had for a few moments before the bolt gave way.

**OoOoOoOoOoOoO**

"Do you want me to stay with you or do you prefer to talk to her alone?"

"Please stay, Professor."

He smiled as he ushered Dexter through the cluttered aisles at the lawyer's office. Since it was Saturday morning there was only a small handful of people working, but at his call his own lawyer had come in for a few hours, her curiosity piqued that Utonium should have a protégé.

"Alyssa Marsh, allow me to introduce Dexter. Dexter, Alyssa is the lawyer that helped me patent Chemical X."

She was very tall and dark with corn rowed hair and white teeth that flashed in a smile as she shook Dexter's hand. In a single glance she knew this boy had to be exceptional, if only by the company he kept.

"It's a pleasure to meet you, Ms. Marsh," said the boy.

"And you, Dexter. So tell me, young man, what have you been up to?"

He smiled. "I've developed a new type of laser technology."

And though no one that heard him could possibly know it, those eight words would change – and help to save – the whole world.

**OoOoOoOoOoOoO**

The planned one-hour meeting turned to two hours, then three, then close to four, as Dexter quietly and competently explained the science behind the laser he called a null-void. He had been developing it for years, which, considering he had just left fourth grade, was remarkable unto itself. Alyssa, who had an excellent grasp of science, sat in stunned amazement while Utonium listened as a grade schooler set the realm of physics on its proverbial ear.

"You weren't kidding, were you?" she breathed when Dexter finally fell silent.

"No."

And that one word, softly spoken, staggered Utonium as much as anything he'd heard that day. It was innocently said, absolutely final, and he was certain Dexter had no idea of the revolution he was launching.

"Do you have a prototype?" Alyssa asked.

"Yes. It's been fully tested, including under water and in extreme temperatures."

"The military is going to love this," muttered the lawyer, trying to get over her shock.

"I hope so. Now what?" wondered Dexter.

"If you'd like me to represent you, you'll have to give me a retainer."

He blushed. "I have no money with me, Ms. Marsh."

"Professor, give the kid a dollar," she ordered. "Now!"

A dollar bill was hastily put into Dexter's hand. Alyssa reached out.

"Give that to me." She slapped the bill onto her desk and rose, extending her hand to shake his. "Congratulations, Dexter. You've just hired yourself a patent lawyer." She smiled. "Now the fun begins."

Truer words had never been said.

**OoOoOoOoOoOoO**

As they rounded up the girls to go out for ice cream to celebrate this first step, neither scientist had the least idea that they were being watched. Not all the citizens of Townsville were as open and forthright as the Utonium family, nor as trusting and trustworthy. Indeed, the city was as famous for its team of ultra super heroines as it was for its villainous elements.

The person stalking them that hot Saturday afternoon most definitely fell into the latter category. Anything the Powerpuff Girls had, from their powers to their hair to their popularity, she wanted and deserved far more than they did. They hadn't even invited her to their laughable little barbecue yesterday – not that she would have gone, of course, but that wasn't the point. Just being excluded when riffraff like teachers and the Mayor were invited made her blood boil.

Seeing them all together as they piled into the family car, it looked as if those stuck-up little Utonium brats had themselves a new friend.

For now.


	5. Ginger Snaps

**Invisible Sun**

**  
Chapter Five: Ginger Snaps**

A/N: My thanks to SSpeedy for putting words in Buttercup's mouth!

**OoOoOoOoOoOoO**

He stepped off the bus and into the blazing heat of an early July morning. Instantly he was sweating, but it never occurred to him to remove his gloves or to wear fewer layers of clothes. He always dressed for working in his laboratory, and since the computers and equipment needed to be kept cool, his entire wardrobe was geared toward the cold.

Pulling on the heavy pack he carried, Dexter waited for the bus to pull away before crossing the street. He hadn't taken ten steps when he heard a voice call from overhead,

"Hey! Dexter!"

Buttercup. He smiled in greeting as she alighted before him. Her green eyes were bright with mischief, and without giving him a chance to speak she immediately laid a hand on his arm and said,

"Listen, we're supposed to walk back, so that gives us about fifteen minutes. What do you say I fly you around the city real fast?"

Dexter found himself grinning, as much in anticipation as in her excitement. "I would love that," he replied. "How?"

"Gimme your pack," she ordered, helping him strip it off. "Sheesh! What you got in here? Bricks? This weighs as much as you do."

"That is my old exo suit. Your father wanted to see it. There's paperwork for Ms Marsh, too. We won't get in trouble?"

"Not if we keep our mouths shut." She shrugged the pack onto her back, fastening it across her chest and pulling the straps tight. "Okay. Turn around and put your arms out."

He obeyed, starting slightly as she passed her arms beneath his to grip him snugly around the chest. She had a few inches on him and had no difficulty in getting a comfortable hold on his slight frame.

"Elbows down. Try to keep your hands in. Ready?"

Dexter nodded and squeaked, "Yes!"

"Okay. Lemme know if your arms get tired!"

He gasped as Buttercup launched into the sky. The earth fell away at a dizzying speed and the wind whipped his hair and lab coat. She streaked toward the city in a flash of green light, laughing aloud at his amazement and pleasure. The air at this altitude was cold and crisp and refreshing, but they were blasted with the reflected heat of the skyscrapers as they flew among the towering structures. Buttercup tore through the buildings on a crazy, zigzag route, just to make him shout in alarm. Over the river she paused in midair, letting him take in the view. Ships passed below, traffic drove on the suspension bridges, and the whole city pulsed with life and activity.

"Ohh!" he panted, quietly thrilled. At such speeds it was hard for him to breathe, not being built for it like a Powerpuff Girl. He tried to laugh but only managed to cough.

"Fun, isn't it?" she asked, grinning.

"It's wonderful," he rasped. "Thank you."

"C'mon, we gotta get back. Don't want them looking for us!"

She took off, rolling onto her back so he could look at the sky, bracing him with her body. Another exclamation of surprise escaped him as they passed through a cloud, sudden moisture coating them, only to be whisked away when they emerged in the clear air.

"Corkscrew!" Buttercup yelled, flipping over and over in a long, dizzying spiral. Dexter let out something close to a scream at the unexpected maneuver, clapping his hands to his face to keep his glasses on, and then he laughed as he recovered and she righted herself. Buttercup whooped along with him, yelling, "Street level, Dexteeeeeer!"

She plunged down to just a few feet off the ground, never breaking her speed. Dexter screamed in earnest this time as she dodged some parked cars, his hands clamping down on hers in panic. A moment later he was safe and sound, standing on the front lawn of the Utonium house, rattled and ecstatic and gasping for air all at once. For a few seconds he managed to stay upright, and then he toppled over, sprawling in the cool, lush grass. Buttercup dropped down beside him, stripping off his heavy pack, pleased at his reaction.

Hopelessly windblown, his glasses askew, Dexter lay still, staring at the sky he had inhabited just a minute before. His breathing slowed and as soon as he could, he gasped, "If I were you, Buttercup, I don't think I'd _ever_ stop flying."

"Wait until you see it at night!"

"It must be incredible."

"It is."

He smiled up at her. "Well. You said you'd find something we both like to do. You succeeded."

She pointed at him. "Ha! Told ya!"

"Well, well, well," said a snide new voice. "Isn't this sweet? Looks like you got yourself a boyfriend, Buttercup. I never thought you had it in you."

Buttercup twisted about and Dexter rolled to his side to face this interruption. A sharp-faced, sneering girl about their own age stood on the sidewalk. She wore an outfit not far removed from Buttercup's typical green and white dress and knee socks save that it was overdone in bright gold and armored in places. Instead of simple Mary Janes, she wore knee-high boots. Strapped to her back was a modified, gold-plated jet pack, the rocket exhaust ports still smoking slightly. A pointed gold crown rested atop her frizzy hair, adding a few inches to her height and making her look completely ridiculous. Dexter sat up for the soul purpose of getting a better view. She looked like a refugee from a circus.

"Princess!" snapped Buttercup, standing and clenching her hands into fists. "What do _you_ want?"

The gold-clad girl ignored the question, concentrating her attentions on Dexter as he straightened his glasses. Her eyes grew wide.

"Ooooh! Well, hello, ginger!" she exclaimed, he gaze sweeping over Dexter over like a dog eyeing a t-bone. "Wow, Buttercup! He's _cute_. Didn't peg you for liking Boy Scouts, though."

Dexter made a face, scrambling to his unsteady feet. Ginger? Boy Scout? _Cute? _He was heartily relieved when Buttercup snorted, but then to his horror she only threw fuel on the fire by saying,

"He's no Boy Scout, Princess, trust me on that one! And he's a heck of a lot cuter than anything _you'd_ ever get without Daddy Morbucks buying them off! Last time – what do you want?"

Dexter stared, open-mouthed. _Cute???_

Princess pretended to think, putting on a flirty little show for her own benefit. "Hmm . . . I want the usual, Buttercup: everything you Powerpuff Girls have got!" Her voice rose in pitch. "My people have been watching you all and they told me you've got yourself a boyfriend! So I guess I'll just start with . . . him!"

There was a buzzing sound as she activated a control on her belt. The micro-rockets on the jet pack's wings ignited. Before Dexter could react, Princess was suddenly bigger than life and in his face. A loud 'Oof!" escaped Dexter as she seized him around the waist, knocking the wind out of him and dumping him over her shoulder in one motion. She used her momentum to leap upwards and a burst from the rocket system propelled them away from the quiet street. He made one desperate grab for his discarded pack. His fingers brushing the strap before the ground fell away and for the second time in less than twenty minutes, he was whisked off into the wild blue yonder by a laughing girl.

**  
OoOoOoOoOoOoO**

"Why, you stinking -"

Buttercup let out a terrific growl, completely annoyed that the likes of some wanna-be Powerpuff not only got the better of her, but also made off with her family's pet genius. Keeping her eye on the receding speck that was equal parts friend and enemy, annoyance gave way to unbridled fury as she bellowed at the top of her lungs:

"Bubbles! Blossom! Princess Morbucks just stole Dexter!"

Shouts rose up from inside the house and her sisters and father spilled out onto the lawn beside her, staring upwards in shock.

"Dexter?" squeaked Bubbles. "But he just got here! Didn't he?"

"Yeah! Princess doesn't seem to have wasted any time!" exclaimed Blossom. "Come on!"

"Be careful!" called Utonium to his daughters as they tore into the sky. Helplessly, he watched them plunge straight into battle, hating that the only thing he could do was hope and pray that they all returned safely and that Dexter, so fragile in his humanity, came to no harm.

**OoOoOoOoOoOoO**

"Put me back down on the ground, you stupid little girl!"

This was beyond belief. He was draped helplessly over her bony shoulder like a cat and yelling to be heard above the wind and the roar of the rockets. Given the fact that they were zipping along at about 600 feet off the ground, this silly Princess character wasn't holding his legs anywhere near as firmly as he would have liked. Seeing as how she needed a jet pack to fly, Dexter sincerely doubted her strength could rival Buttercup's, and he no confidence whatsoever in any brand of technology but his own. The dinky little rockets propelling them along could not last much longer, and then what?

"Feisty!" Princess Morbucks happily exclaimed. "The accent is a nice touch, Ginger Snap!"

"What accent?" he demanded. "And my name is Dexter!"

"Well, you can call me anything you like, baby!"

"Fine! You're stupid! What do you think you're doing?"

"Hullo!" she yelled at him. "Told you back at the Utonium's! I'm _taking_ you."

"Take me back! _Now!_ I have work to do!"

Completely unused to being treated with anything other than fear by her father's staff, she found his attitude amusing. She laughed at his temper. "I can see the attraction!"

"What attraction?" he demanded, trying to examine the jet pack upside-down while not losing his glasses.

"Buttercup's! You've got that adorable cute-and-clueless thing going on!"

"I'm not cute! Or adorable!" he insisted, though he couldn't help but wonder if it was true and what exactly that amounted to, if anything.

"Yes, you are."

"And I have a clue!"

"Says you!"

"I do! Where are you taking me?"

"Home," she cooed. "You'll make a nice addition my accessories collection."

"Ha. Unless your home is directly below us, we'll never make it."

"Oh, please. I live in the city, not out here with the little people. You'll like Daddy's penthouse."

"Oh, please. Did you forget this jet pack will burn twice the fuel transporting twice the weight? Therefore, with our combined mass, you can only fly half the distance you normally would. So unless we reach Daddy's penthouse in approximately . . ." He checked his watch, wondering how long it would take the Powerpuff Girls to get here. He knew they could outstrip Princess without even trying. Where were they? ". . . one minute and thirty-nine seconds, I suggest you land and _not_ in the river!"

There was a hint of alarm in her voice. "How do you know that?"

"I am a scientist _and_ I have a clue. This is a standard Mitsubishi Mark V 'Ramjet' jet pack with a range of ten miles when transporting a total of 125 pounds at an altitude of no more than 500 feet and at a maximum velocity of twenty-five miles an hour in optimum conditions. Given our combined weights are probably more than that and considering you had to fly into the wind to reach the Utonium household, at -"

She was scandalized. "This is the deluxe model!"

"Not according to the manufacturer's label!" he shot right back.

"Oh, someone is going to pay for this!" she fumed.

"Not me, I trust," Dexter muttered, eyeing the ground nervously. Aloud he criticized, "This is a very poorly planned kidnapping! Do you also suffer from impulse buying?"

"Oh, shut up!"

But something was clearly not right in the world of jet packs, deluxe models or otherwise, and Princess angled towards the ground. He saw the river close by, but she flew parallel to it as she sought a place to land before they crashed. Moments later Dexter was dumped to the ground, sprawling on his rump amidst marigolds and petunias in a flower bed by a recreation field. Princess came to a more delicate and ladylike landing, already on her cell phone.

"Daddy? Send the limo over to the baseball diamond by the Outerstreet Bridge. Now! This cheap jet pack ran out of fuel and the Powerpuffs are after me. Nothing! I didn't do anything! I was just out flying and they came after me and I had to run away and I don't want them to get me because you know how much they hate me! They're jealous! Why?" Her eyes narrowed as she focused in on Dexter, who was stuck dumb by her outrageous lies. "They all want my new boyfriend."

"Whaaat?" he exploded, horrified.

"Okay! Yeah, very cute. You'll like him. Hurry! Love you!"

She blew a kiss and closed the phone, shedding the jet pack and the bubbly persona. Tossing the pack aside carelessly, Princess seized Dexter by the wrist, yanking him to his feet with unexpected strength.

"C'mon, Ginger Snap, you're my ticket out of here when your girlfriend shows up."

He resisted, started to protest, tried to twist away, and then he froze as he found himself staring down the barrel of a gun. He didn't recognize the design, but it was some kind of laser.

"What is that?" he wondered, curiosity overcoming caution. He adjusted his glasses and leaned closer for a better look, then stood up quickly as she gestured threateningly with it.

"A little something Mojo Jojo made for me. So unless you want me to fry you but good, shut up and come along peaceably."

How did he get into this mess? Had he even been in Townsville for half an hour yet? Given little choice, Dexter obeyed as Princess prodded him toward the shelter of some trees by the parking lot.

"Now what?" he demanded as she scanned the street, impatient for the promised limousine.

"Just what we were wondering, Dexter," said Blossom from right behind them.

Morbucks hissed, whirling around to see all three Powerpuff Girls standing in a line, ready for battle and spoiling for action. They had been following Princess the whole time, but had not dared to engage the girl until their friend was out of harm's way. Dexter sighed in relief and started to walk toward his rescuers.

"It's about ti - ack!"

Princess lunged, her left arm wrapping around Dexter's throat and pulling him close to her. The laser was shoved firmly against his head.

"Back off or the Boy Scout gets it!"

"Hold on, girls," ordered Blossom, unwilling to do anything that might injure Dexter. She raised her hands to keep her sisters from the attack. "Dexter?"

He gritted his teeth, completely put out that his weekend was getting off to so rocky a start. He had work to do, lawyers to meet, and Princess was enjoying this too much. It was time she learned a serious lesson.

"Princess?" he asked, turning his head to ease the pressure on his throat.

"Hmm?" she purred in his ear, convinced she had the upper hand since she had the red-headed cutie _and_ the laser.

"You forgot an important factor," Dexter hissed.

"What's that, Ginger Snap?"

He smirked. "I was never a Boy Scout."

With all his strength Dexter brought his right heel smashing down on top of her foot. He wore heavy, sturdy ankle boots suitable for working in a laboratory, and her foot - encased in a shiny but flimsy boot - didn't stand a chance. Princess Morbucks howled in shock and pain. Dexter shoved her gun hand away, driving his left elbow into her ribs, and as she doubled over she caught his back fist square in the nose. He whirled around, cracking his kidnapper in the jaw with the heel of his open hand. The gold-dressed girl dropped like a rock, and he leaned over to pick up the gun he was so curious about before he looked at his would-be rescuers, shaking out his sore hand.

Blossom, Bubbles, and Buttercup stood staring at him in mute amazement. Eyes wide, mouths hanging open, their surprise turned to admiration and delight as they took in how coolly he had handled the situation. Rendered self-conscious by their gaping expressions, he stammered,

"Well, I wasn't!"

Three squeals rose up as they tackled him from all sides, elated in his victory.

**OoOoOoOoOoOoO**

"Sloppy work," said Dexter to the Professor an hour later. They sat eating grilled cheese sandwiches as they waited for the Powerpuff Girls to return from the police station, Dexter having already given a statement to the police. "She didn't even calculate the fuel consumption ratio!"

"Shocking," said Utonium, putting another sandwich on his plate without asking, convinced Dexter was malnourished. "More soup?"

"Please."

"You impressed the girls with your martial skills."

Dexter laughed. "In truth, I was just sick of being called Ginger Snap by a stuck-up brat. I guess I . . . snapped."

Utonium chuckled, ladling more soup into his bowl, rather amazed that Dexter had the poise to simply sit and eat and critique his kidnapping and even crack jokes. "Well, let's hope you've had your fill of the local villains."

"Mmm," agreed Dexter, who wanted nothing more than to get to work on the Megabot 3000. "May no new things arise."

"I'll drink to that," said the Professor, raising his soda in salute.

For all they were a pair of geniuses, they could not have been more wrong if they tried.


	6. Close Encounters

**Invisible Sun**

**Chapter Six: Close Encounters**

A/N My thanks to SSpeedy for the correction on Shaan's rank in the army!

**OoOoOoOoOoOoO**

It was a gray and rainy afternoon when he arrived in Townsville, but the weather had no bearing at all upon his mood. Dexter was happy just to be here. He had a meeting with Ms Marsh the following morning to go over some of his research for the null-void laser and the Professor had asked him to bring a list of all the books and articles he had consulted in its development. He was quietly thrilled to have both adults interested in his work. It had been a very long time since he had been able to freely discuss science without having to explain every term he used or scale back the conversation to be understood.

He was also looking forward to seeing the Powerpuff Girls again. Their respect – which had expanded exponentially since he had cold-clocked Princess Morbucks almost two weeks ago – was something Dexter found he valued highly. To be regarded for something beyond his intelligence, especially by three such capable and - dare he admit it to himself - _pretty_ girls, was as marvelous as it was novel. Beyond that, though, he liked them. They were good company, used to the odd quirks and eccentricities that accompanied genius, and they did not expect more out of him than to be himself no matter peculiar he proved to be. Living outside the norm themselves, the trio simply accepted Dexter for what he was. It was refreshing and gratifying not to have to always be on his guard, or to explain himself, or to be held to a different standard just because he happened to be smarter than the people around him. It was possible that in Dexter, they had found the same thing.

Professor Utonium had issued a standing invitation for him to visit whenever he liked. Since the Powerpuff Girls would not leave Townsville, he was perfectly content coming to them as often as he could without outstaying his welcome. Luckily his parents were glad to see him getting out of the house (something he had started to avoid) and let him go whenever he asked. They did not seem very curious about what he was doing with his summer, though he answered all their questions with perfect sincerity. That they dismissed his answers as fancy and exaggeration was typical, and there was little else he could do to enlighten them.

Exiting the bus, he hurried through the terminal to reach his connection that would drop him off a few blocks from the Utonium house. As he started down the stairs to the lower level, he was astonished to see a mass of people running up the stairs in a state of panic. He jumped aside, pushing back against the wall to let them pass. Screams of "Fuzzy!" and "Lumps!" rose up from the alarmed crowd as they stampeded up the stairs. They dispersed through the terminal, apparently spreading the word. Dexter watched them go with interest, wondering if this was normal conduct for people in this city and why anything fuzzy and lumpy should be cause for such extreme reactions.

With a shrug he went on his way, pulling the straps on his backpack a little tighter as he bounded down the stairs. He came to a stop when he saw the lower level of the terminal was silent and empty. Confused, Dexter nonetheless pressed on, eager to reach his destination. Midway across the floor, he stopped in his tracks as a heavily accented voice echoed through the terminal.

"What do you want, kid?"

He peered between the parked buses, trying to pinpoint the source of the voice. Whoever was speaking was highly agitated, sounded unbalanced, and spoke with a Southern accent. Dexter carefully answered,

"I want to get on that bus. What do you want?"

His question seemed to generate some surprise. There was a pause, then in a substantially less furious tone the drawling voice said,

"I want Joe back."

"Who is Joe?" he asked, edging toward the cover of the shadows.

"Ma best friend," twanged the voice.

"I see," Dexter said, beginning to grasp why those people fled in a panic. "Is he on this bus?"

"Somebody moved him. Somebody touched ma property! Somebody took Joe!"

"Very annoying, I agree. I have a sister like that."

"Your sister took Joe?"

"No, no, she did no such thing. She doesn't know Joe and she's not even here. Besides, she just touches things. She doesn't take them. _Not too far_," he muttered.

"Huh. You talk funny."

"So do you."

He had the speaker pinpointed now, standing to the rear of his bus. There came a shuffling sound as this lumpy Southern terror moved forward.

"And you dress funny."

Dexter's eyebrows rose in surprise as he was confronted by a tall, lumbering, hairy being that looked to be a weird cross between a domesticated Sasquatch and a hillbilly. His splayed feet were bare and he wore ragged blue coveralls. He was covered with long, rough, pink fur from head to feet. A bulbous green nose, bent antennae, and unintelligent, slightly crazed brown eyes completed the strange sight.

"So do you," Dexter stated, looking this . . . person over skeptically. "Are you . . . Fuzzy?"

The eyes grew wider and a bit crazier. "Lumpkins. Fuzzy Lumpkins' ma name."

"Ah." He recognized the name now. Bubbles had made him laugh himself breathless at the barbecue when she told the tale of how Fuzzy had tried to serve meat jam at a competition and had subsequently turned one of her pigtails into a fried chicken leg. If all reports were true, Dexter was in it deep and it was far too late to join the maddened crowd that had raced out of here. "How do you do? I'm Dexter."

"How do I do what?" demanded Fuzzy, suddenly incensed at being questioned by anyone as strange as this boy with the odd clothing and foreign manner of speech.

He thought fast; his experience with the school bullies telling him that a distraction was as good as confusion. "How do you intend to find Joe?"

"Joe!" bellowed Fuzzy, remembering his mission. "He's missing!" He clapped his hands to his head, looking around frantically. "Joe! Speak to me. Joe!"

"Uh-huh," murmured Dexter, watching this display with growing concern for his personal safety. He watched the increasingly agitated Lumpkins dart around, lifting up buses to see underneath and dropping them when Joe was not revealed to be hiding under them. Dexter remained where he was, riveted to his spot by this outlandish display. And then . . .

"Fuzzy? Fuzzy? Mr. Lumpkins!"

Dexter stamped his foot, not taking kindly to being ignored by this fursuit hillbilly and anxious to get Fuzzy's attention before his own bus was lifted and dropped and broken like the others. Fuzzy whirled, snarling and displaying a few crooked teeth as his antennae bounced about like deely boppers.

"What do you want, kid?" he growled.

"Joe wouldn't happen to be a ban_jo_, would he?" Dexter demanded.

"How do you know that unless you're the one that touched him?"

His pack prevented him from holding his hands behind his back, so Dexter folded them across his chest instead. "Because it's strapped to your back, you imbecile."

It was comical to see the change that swept over Fuzzy as he reached both hands behind him and felt the neck of the instrument, slung on and promptly forgotten early in the morning.

_"Joe!"_

The tearful reunion went on for some time, with many heartfelt promises never to be parted, until a suddenly adoring Fuzzy decided to show his gratitude and share his joy by giving Dexter a bear hug. He'd just swept the protesting boy into his huge, crushing, hairy, lice-ridden, unwashed, matted, smelly, rancid, sweaty, flea-bitten embrace when suddenly the Powerpuff Girls arrived in a swirl of dust and wind and imediately misinterpreted the scene. They did not see a display of appreciation. The only things the three girls saw were their choking, gagging, wheezing friend trying his best wriggle free of the behemoth's hold, and a howling hybrid hillbilly dancing about.

"Mitts off our friend, Fuzzy!" bellowed Buttercup, putting an end to his celebration.

Dexter hacked and coughed at the god-awful stench surrounding Fuzzy. It hung about him like a cloud and now it encompassed hick and boy genius alike.

"Your friend?" Lumpkins raged. He dropped Dexter, sending him sprawling on the cement floor. He lay there, too disgusted and dismayed by the touch of his own clothing and the film of filth and pink hair coating him to move.

"You okay, Dexter?" demanded Blossom.

"No!" he snapped. He spit at the greasy hair clinging to his face and collar and let out a sound of sheer, repulsed protest. "I'm _revolted_!"

"He's ma friend too!" Fuzzy cheered, pointing at Dexter without noticing the redhead's very negative reaction to this declaration. Dexter let out a wail as he was scooped up and thanked again, this time from behind so that he was evenly coated with Fuzzy's unique funk. "Dexter found Joe! He's ma second best friend in the world!"

Blossom sighed, Bubbles whined, and Buttercup slapped a hand to her face as the situation became clear to them all. This was Fuzzy in dense mode, not aggressive mode. In this state he was relatively harmless, though still destructive, and presently overly demonstrative to their natty friend.

"Dexter?"

With some writhing and twisting, he finally escaped Fuzzy's enthusiastic clutches. He looked up at them with horror, afraid to touch anything, including himself, but after a moment he pawed at his mussed hair.

"I think I have _lice_!"

The girls rolled their eyes, knowing better by now than to argue when he was worked up, and let him have his melt down.

**OoOoOoOoOoOoO**

While Dexter was trying his best to boil himself alive in the shower, Professor Utonium and his daughters indulged in a long bout of laughter, as much as at the situation as Dexter's overreaction to it. Dexter flatly refused to listen to reason, refused to wear the clothes on his back ever again, and refused to step foot in the Utonium house as he waited for Bubbles, who few him home while her sisters dealt with Fuzzy and the police, to take a shower first. He would allow nothing less and apologized profusely that he might have spread his imagined plague to his friend and for being, as he put it, a walking bio-hazard. The Professor's arguments to come inside, at least as far as the front hall, fell on deaf ears – Dexter rejected all contrary opinions, feeling himself nothing short of infested by lice, fleas, and ticks, and announced himself completely unfit to associate with his friends until he was scrubbed clean. Finally the Professor gave up, letting him cool his heels and suffer his self-imposed martyrdom in the rain, and told Bubbles to hurry before Dexter convinced himself he had Lyme disease as well.

He was still chuckling when the phone rang. Alyssa Marsh laughed to hear him in so good a mood.

"I had an interesting conversation a few minutes ago," she told him in a false singsong voice. "From Virginia."

Utonium sobered up quickly. "The Patent Office?" he ventured, rightly suspecting he was aiming too low.

"No." Alyssa's cheery tone never changed as she forced herself to stay in a good mood. "The Pentagon."

"Ah."

"Yes. Ah. I was contacted by a Major General Shaan. Seems the Army has got our boy flagged and wants to know what he's up to."

"Ah," said Utonium as Dexter came down the stairs toweling his hair dry.

"Yes. Ah. When I asked for some confirmation that this was the same person, Shaan just said short, safety orange hair, glasses, and talks like he escaped the Soviet Bloc. I didn't think there could be too many kids like that running around."

"Nnnno," agreed the Professor, staring at Dexter as he wandered about innocently, combing his fingers through his hair.

"Shaan will be at our meeting for a little while tomorrow. He wants a word. I couldn't say no."

"Oh," managed Utonium. He could hear the girls teasing Dexter. They laughed as he expounded on the differences between getting dirty in the name of science versus outright filth.

Said the lawyer, "You might want to get a bit of background on this one before you two come in tomorrow."

"Right."

"See you!"

"Yeah." He hung up and tried to wrap his brain around this development and to get his jaw to close again. After a long moment he took a deep breath and called, "Dexter?"

Immediately the ten-year-old menace came from the living room, smiling brightly. "Yes, Professor?"

Utonium took another deep breath, stalling, and then, with a knot twisting in his stomach, asked, "Would you happen to know a Major General Shaan?"

The surprise that filled those blue eyes was genuine. Dexter's jaw dropped and his face lost what color it had. He lowered his head, straightening his glasses as he marshaled his thoughts. After this quick delaying ritual, he clasped his hands behind his back and looked up at the Professor.

"Major?" he asked stiffly. "He's been promoted."

**OoOoOoOoOoOoO**

Sitting at the dining room table in his usual seat to Utonium's right, Dexter told the tale of how, two years ago, he first came to the attention of the government when NASA sent him a bill for $200 billion. Not long after that debacle had been dealt with, the United States Army had invaded his laboratory in the mistaken belief that it was a staging ground for UFO's. So it was in his own laboratory that he had met then-Brigadier General Shaan. The girls listened in rapt astonishment to this tale and his matter-of-fact tone. It was clear that he had been highly alarmed at the incident, though he tried his best to hide that fact.

"So then what?" asked Buttercup, who was enjoying his misadventures immensely.

"Uh . . . they looked around - very carefully, now that I think of it - and they left," Dexter said. The implications, the possibilities were starting to assail his imagination and he looked to the Professor, desperate for reassurance now that he was in the military's cross-hairs. "Professor? What will happen?"

It was Bubbles who piped up before her father could reply. "I guess you'll have to wait until tomorrow to find out!"

Her sisters glowered at her bad timing and Dexter felt a wave of panic. Utonium gave his daughter a reproachful look.

"Bubbles!"

"What?" she asked. "Well, you do!"

Dexter dropped his head onto his arms. "Yes, I know that, Bubbles. Thank you."

She beamed. "You're welcome!"

He groaned. Utonium placed a hand on his shoulder. "Dexter, there's nothing saying you're in any sort of trouble. You haven't done anything illegal." He hesitated, his grip tightening convulsively. "You haven't, have you? Done anything illegal, I mean."

"Not that I'm aware of," was the too-quick reply. He raised his head, his eyes wide. "It's legal to own thorium-232, isn't it?"

"You have a _nuclear reactor_?" squawked Utonium.

"Don't you?"

"Graphite moderated?" he squeaked.

Dexter panicked in kind. "No! Pressurized water!"

The Professor took a very long, very deep breath and said a hasty prayer. "We might just have to wait until tomorrow, Dexter."

His head hit the table with a _thunk!_ "This has been a bad day."

"Could be worse," said Buttercup.

"Yeah," Blossom agreed. "You could have lice."

"Or you could be Fuzzy's best friend," Bubbles added.

That didn't help. Not even a little.

**OoOoOoOoOoOoO**

"Congratulations on your promotion, sir."

Square-jawed, flinty-eyed, flat-topped, General Shaan actually tried his best not to be intimidating, but that was like asking water not to be wet. He seemed to fill Alyssa's office with his size and presence when they arrived for their meeting. Stepping forward, the officer offered his hand to the boy - a tiger offering its paw to a lamb, a lamb that was trying his very best to keep his cool.

"Dexter. It's good to see you again."

"Is it?" wondered Dexter faintly, shaking his huge hand. He was tired, having slept poorly and spent his night and morning worrying. He also felt very, very small and suddenly young and he was grateful for Utonium's grip upon his shoulder.

The tiger smiled, white teeth flashing in a dark face. "Yes, it is, son. I've been expecting something this impressive out of you since we met. I understand you're about to do some amazing things for the world of science."

He wasn't certain how to respond to that and he glanced up at Utonium. The Professor smiled reassuringly, as if to say everything would work out, and gave his shoulder a gentle squeeze. Thus bolstered, Dexter raised his eyes to Shaan's. There was no threat in that angular face – only anticipation. He lifted his chin a little defiantly, and said with greater confidence than he felt,

"I'm going to try."


	7. Dog Day Afternoon

**Invisible Sun**

**Chapter Seven: Dog Day Afternoon**

"What are you working on, Dexter? Not a report?"

Dexter chuckled. "No, Dad, it's summer. I don't have homework. This is an application for a patent. I've created a new type of laser."

He waited for the inevitable non-reaction. His father blinked, his usual response to anything that was beyond his experience. Since most of what Dexter did or claimed to do was beyond his experience, he spent a great deal of time blinking at his son. Not exactly comfortable with inquiring further - he never knew what his questions would garner, and so he tended to avoid them in conversations with Dexter - his father moved on to safer territory.

"Uh, that's great. You visiting Professor this weekend?"

"If you and Mom don't mind, I would like to."

"No! It's great that you're finally getting out and making friends."

Dexter glanced up at that 'finally.' It wasn't as if he hadn't tried to make friends in the past - he'd just never found anyone he could relate to very well. Not even the self-proclaimed geniuses in his elementary school could keep up with him for long. It didn't help that he couldn't abide the only person his age that was close to being his peer. Dexter wondered what his father would say if he knew that Professor Utonium was a year younger than he was, not that he was going to volunteer such information.

"I'm trying, Dad," he said, forcing a smile. "I'm almost done with this. Could you drive me to the post office so I can send it certified mail?"

His father glanced at the clock. "Sure, but hurry up. They're only open until five. You hanging out with the Powderpuff Girls again?"

"Powerpuff," he corrected, thinking of how irate Buttercup would be if she heard him. She _hated _that. "And yes, they should be there."

His father seemed convinced the girls were either Imaginary Friends or characters from a video game no matter how many times Dexter tried to explain otherwise. Then again, he had told his parents about his laboratory last year, gave them a tour of it, and to date neither of them had mentioned it again or given any indication that their son had a vast scientific complex right underneath their house. As far as Dexter could figure, they had both written the experience off as a dream or hallucination and simply believed he had an advanced chemistry kit in his bedroom. Where they thought he kept his welders and generators and telescopes and computers and other equipment for the things he produced, Dexter could not imagine. Their state of denial was complete, and even though he had told them the truth at every turn, it clearly made no difference.

It never occurred to Dexter that his laboratory and his inventions were simply too fantastic for them to grasp or that their denial was a defensive reaction against the very strange and unexpected reality he presented. It was easier and safer to believe their son liked to dabble in experiments and had fun building robots. That he was brilliant they could not deny, but that he was a genius and polymath on a grand scale, was a published expert on a number of subjects, and that he was poised to change the world of science was simply beyond their ken. Rather than deal with such upheaval in their ordered and comfortably predictable world, they simply carried on with their quiet suburban lives as if there was nothing out of the ordinary happening in their own home.

"Ready?" asked his father, collecting his keys.

Dexter sealed the envelope. "I'll address it on the way."

"I'll get the car. Let your mom know where we're going."

"Will do. Thanks, Dad."

His father chatted about nothing as Dexter copied the address Alyssa Marsh had provided. He thought it a bit odd that she gave him a _name _at the Patent Office and not a general office to receive applications, but he was not about to argue with a lawyer. He owed her too much money to argue.

General Shaan, she said, had made a few calls after they had met in her office. He had provided the name to her, saying that if Dexter sent his application to the general address it would take years to be issued, whereas this man could speed up the process considerably. He wondered at Shaan's enthusiasm and support for this project. Ms Marsh had not been joking when she said the military would love the null-void, but it would take more time and money to start producing the proposed lasers than Dexter had readily available. He already had a business plan in the works. He realized full well that to expand his research he needed more money. The Megabot series was dependent upon neo-neurotomics, and the development of neo-neurotomics was dependent upon funding - funding that the null-void would provide if all went well. It seemed to him that Shaan wanted to move forward with the null-void laser at a faster pace than Dexter was ready to handle, especially since he was still in elementary school. What was Shaan's anxiety?

He would have to speak to Professor Utonium and get his thoughts on the matter. Until then, it gave Dexter immense satisfaction to have the application completed and about to be sent on its way. Checking the address once again against the email printout he held, Dexter made certain it was correct:

_Max Tennyson  
Mail Stop PLMB-001  
Commissioner for Patents  
P.O. Box 1450  
Alexandria, VA 22313-1450_

**OoOoOoOoOoOoO**

Dexter planted his fists on his hips and glared at the trio of undulating, hat-wearing gray blobs he had backed into a corner of the convenience store. His bus had been early and because it was a blazing hot day and he was, as always, overdressed for the weather, he had stopped to get something cold to drink. Almost immediately he had been set upon by three gigantic, talking, not-exactly-intelligent amoebae that tried and failed to intimidate him.

"You! Repeat what you just told me!"

Bossman nervously began, "Well, it's like this, see -"

"Yeah," Junior echoed. "Like this, see."

"Shut up!" snapped Dexter and instantly all three amoebae clammed up. He pointed imperiously at Bossman. "Not you! Talk!"

"Problem there?" wondered the shop owner, completely disinterested. The Amoeba Boys, the least effective criminal element in the City of Townsville, were well known and universally disregarded as being mostly harmless.

"No!" Dexter barked, his accent thickening as he got madder. "Now talk!"

The purple finger pointing his way was like an oracle of doom to the Amoeba Boy leader, and he hastened to spill the beans. "Well, word's got out that the Powerpuff Girls have got themselves a friend, see, and, well . . ."

Dexter leaned forward threateningly. "And?"

"Well, uh, you're a target," Slim slurred, too stupid to be intimidated by the hot-tempered, impatient redhead that was seconds away from going ballistic on the lot of them. "Word's out. We know your name, Dumpster."

"Dexter," he corrected through gritted teeth.

"Princess Morbucks is back in juvie," Bossman said, "and she said you was super-strong and overpowered her."

"Yeah! Super-strong!" Junior piped, forgetting his orders.

"And Fuzzy said you was super-smart for finding Joe without lookin' or nothin'," Bossman continued. "Everyone that doesn't like the Powerpuff Girls is after you!"

_"WHAT?"_

Good heavens, a spoiled brat and an imbecile were giving testimony to his capabilities?

Yeah!" Junior began. "Everyone that doesn't like -"

"What did I tell you?" Dexter glared.

"Sorry," cringed Junior, sliding closer to Slim.

"Who knows my name?"

"Uh . . . everyone!" wailed the troop of amoebae, cowed by the accented fury.

Dexter stared. This was not good. This could be very inconvenient. But they were very stupid and he had a bus to catch.

"Get away from me and stay far, far away or you'll find out how smart and how strong I really am. Don't ever address me again. Is that understood?"

"Yeah, yeah, never again," they agreed. "Never, never!"

"Now go away!"

He stamped his foot. The three gigantic cells fumbled and smacked into each other as they tried to escape. Finally they settled on hiding behind a rack of magazines. Without time to get his drink now, Dexter grumbled and stomped off.

"Uh, what's he mean by a dress?" wondered Slim as they watched Dexter leave.

"He must think we're dames," said Bossman, shrugging his single-cell equivalent of shoulders. "This Dumpster kid ain't so smart after all."

**OoOoOoOoOoOoO**

"I'm very sorry, Professor."

"Don't apologize. There's no way you could have known. It's not your fault."

"Actually, sir, I learned today that Townsville's criminal population has targeted me because I'm friends with your daughters."

"Oh. Well. Welcome to my world, Dexter."

"Thank you. Buttercup did mention something about the Smiths being out of jail right before she slammed the door in my face the day we met, but I had no idea of what they looked like or that they'd try something like this."

"Maryanne Smith is the reason why I can't eat peas."

"Much as I like them, I don't blame you. She is . . . intense."

They were in the Smith's dining room, tied back-to-back by ties, belts, and scarves, and each had been bungee to his chair. It had all started when the Professor, busy in the kitchen, had asked Dexter to answer the front door. Faced by a manically grinning, frighteningly chipper, and impossibly tanned woman and chubby blonde girl who identified themselves as the next-door neighbors and asked to borrow a cup of sugar, Dexter had opened the door and was promptly seized and dragged off. Minutes later the Professor was likewise nabbed. The Powerpuff Girls were in the city opening a jar of pickles for the Mayor, and after that crisis had been averted they stuck around to thwart a robbery at the modern art museum. It would be some time before they returned and found the men of the house had gone missing.

"So . . . now what?"

"She won't do anything until her husband gets home from work at the mustard plant."

"When is that?"

"In about twenty minutes."

"Oh. Um . . . then what?"

"Things will get interesting."

"Oh. When do you think the girls will be back?"

"Dinner's at six every night."

"So we have about half an hour to . . ."

"Kill."

"I was going to say fill." Dexter leaned his head back and came into contact with Utonium's shoulder. "Professor," he whispered.

"Mmm?" answered the scientist softly.

"Can you move your hands at all?"

"A little," he whispered. "Why?"

"They left my gloves on when they tied me up. If you could hold my glove, I may be able to get my hand free."

"Keep talking," ordered Utonium, grouping for the boy's fingers.

"I mailed the application for the patent yesterday," Dexter said, scrambling for a topic to fill the silence since they'd hardly shut up since they had been accosted.

"So soon?" exclaimed Utonium with unfeigned surprise. "Does Alyssa know?"

"She gave me the green light," Dexter replied, pausing as he stretched his fingers to find Utonium's hand. He felt a twinge of panic completely unrelated to their situation. "Is it too early?"

"If she said to send it, then you send it. Alyssa Marsh is the best patent lawyer in the state. Usually it takes a lawyer two or three months to find out if you're imitating anyone else's work, not a few weeks."

"Perhaps the bibliography I gave her helped. It's the same one I gave you."

"Maybe," Utonium replied, sounding uncertain.

"She had me send it to someone named Max Tennyson at the Patent Office. General Shaan gave her the name. He told her it would speed up the processing of my application."

The Professor seized upon Dexter's fingers, holding them tightly. "That is irregular, Dexter."

Dexter snorted, returning the grip as best he could for a moment. "This whole summer has been irregular, Professor."

"Got it," whispered Utonium.

"Hold on," he replied in kind, and began to twist his sweaty hand free. Aloud he said, "I thought it odd that the Army should be so interested in my work so early on."

"It's not unheard of, but I don't think they're used to dealing with fourth graders. They probably sent Shaan just because you'd met already."

"I don't know. We didn't exactly meet under ideal circumstances." He let out a little hiss, trying to make his already small hands smaller still to get past the ugly polyester ties holding him. "Have you ever heard of Max Tennyson?"

"No." Utonium struggled to hold onto the glove as Dexter's slim fingers gradually slipped away.

"Oh. I thought he might be a scientist."

"If he's in the Patent Office, he's probably a bureaucrat."

They looked up as a male voice came from the kitchen. A moment later they both looked up as a scrawny teenage boy in full rebellious punk mode dashed around the corner to sneer at their dilemma.

"Afternoon, Buddy," said Utonium.

"Awright, Mom!" he yelled. He studied Dexter intently, taking in the glasses and the lab coat, and then laughed, showing off buck teeth and braces. "Ha! Matching geek bookends!"

Dexter frowned. "Do you even know what a book is?"

Buddy glowered, aware he'd just been put down but not exactly sure how to respond with anything other than yelling. So, he yelled.

"I hate books. And I hate geeks! I especially hate ones that talk funny like you do!"

"Bud, come wash your hands!" called Maryanne.

"I hate washing my hands!"

"And bathing, too," muttered Dexter as Bud stormed off. He got back to the business of freeing his hand. "Why are criminals in this town so adverse to hygiene?"

"They're not all like that," reasoned the Professor. "She's making him wash his hands, isn't she? Dexter," he said softly, "if you get free, I want you to get out of here immediately."

"I'm not leaving you."

"It's me they want, to get back at the girls. You're just collateral."

"Not according to the Amoeba Boys. Really, Professor, why would the Smiths wait until I was visiting to try to borrow that cup of sugar?"

Utonium glowered, defeated. "I was hoping you wouldn't notice. Y'know it wouldn't hurt to be a little less logical now and then, especially around your elders."

Dexter grinned, straining. "Don't worry," he said, panting with effort. "I have my moments. You just haven't seen . . . me . . . ow!" He bit his lip, praying none of the Smiths heard him, and let his breath out in a sigh, finishing with: ". . . do anything stupid yet."

"I doubt that happens often," Utonium said, and Dexter knew he was smiling.

"More often than I'd like to admit," he confessed. "Hold . . . on."

He yanked, feeling something twinge in his shoulder as his hand slid past the bonds. He twisted and shimmied and shook the ties off his hands. After that it was simply a matter of sliding out from beneath the bungees strapping him to the chair. Being small and scrawny was paying off for once. He scrambled to his feet just as the front door of the house opened.

"Go!" urged Utonium.

Dexter shook his head and applied himself to the Italian designer scarves holding the Professor.

"Get a knife," said the older man, jerking his chin at the table, set for dinner. Dexter seized upon a steak knife and sawed at the knots holding his friend's hands.

"Harold, I have a surprise for you!" sang Maryanne. They could hear her moving through the house as she spoke.

"Oh, goody," said a bland voice. "I could use – Maryanne! You're . . . _dressed_."

Utonium strained. Dexter cut faster. A final yank and the Professor's hands were free. Together they worked on the belts and bungees holding him to the chair. He was almost clear when the chubby little girl ambled by and spotted them. For a moment she and Dexter stared at one another – she in surprise and he in astonishment to see she wore a mask and a tutu that looked as if it was made of a spiked tire.

"MOM!" she bellowed at the top of her lungs. "Mom! They cut your good scarf!"

In a desperate rush Utonium threw off the last curtain tie securing him. He seized Dexter and they dashed past the howling girl. They made it as far as the kitchen before Buddy blocked the door. He was clad in an outlandish costume and cowl and brandished a tire iron, laughing manically. Maryanne Smith came into the kitchen at a run, her husband and daughter hot on her heels. She was as ridiculously dressed as her children in a mask and thigh-high boots, and she wielded two mallets. Her bespeckled husband still wore his work clothes, but somehow managed to exude an air of twisted malevolence in a myopic sort of way.

"Oh, Professor," crowed Harold Smith, clasping his bony hands. "How nice to have you back in my power! And look, you brought your daughters' little friend along for the fun! Hello, Duster!"

"My name is Dexter!" snapped the child genius, taking a step forward before Utonium pulled him back.

"Well, I really don't care," Harold said smugly, smiling down at the little firebrand being held so protectively by his neighbor. "You're guilty by association, boy."

At this point Buddy lost control and started laughing evilly. It was catchy, because Maryanne joined in and then chunky little Julie and finally the master of the house added his voice to the evil jocularity. Dexter looked up at Utonium, but the Professor just shook his head and shrugged a bit, trying not to let his disgust shine through too brightly.

"I've heard rumors about you, Duster," Harold finally said smugly.

"Dexter," hissed the boy, furious at being deliberately ignored and mocked all in one breath.

"Super strong, super smart – well you're not smarter than me! Together with my family, we're a lot smarter than you'll ever hope to be!" He laughed some more.

Dexter cast a look at the assembled crew before pushing his glasses back in place. "Don't bet on it."

"Leave him out of this, Harold," the Professor insisted.

"I'd like to, Utonium, but it's been so long since I melted anyone's head off their shoulders, I think I'll need to practice first."

"He cut my scarf by Ricardo," hissed Maryanne. "He deserves everything he gets."

"Julie, honey, go get Daddy's laser, will you?"

Julie scampered off. While they were waiting for her to return Maryanne turned on the vegetables to cook for the Smith family dinner and asked after Harold's day. It was so strange and normal all at once. Dexter glanced at the clock. It was almost six. Even if the girls got home, how would they know where to look?

Almost on cue, he could hear girlish voices calling from outside. The Powerpuff Girls had returned and were looking for their father and friend. Julie returned with the laser and Harold Smith smiled wickedly as he leveled it at the pair of scientists trapped in his kitchen.

"Not a sound out of you, gentlemen," he warned.

Dexter glared and softly wondered, "Then how about from the ladies?" Before anyone could stop him, he rounded on mother and daughter. "Julie, that is the ugliest dress in creation and it makes you look fat. Mrs. Smith, that meatloaf reeks like hazardous waste."

Twin cries of fury rose up from the insulted women.

"You little beast! That's my mother's recipe!"

"Mommy! He called me fat and ugly!"

"Actually, Julie, he called your _dress_ ugly," Utonium corrected, getting into the spirit. "It just _makes_ you look fat."

The whole Smith clan was shouting in defense of baby fat and meatloaf and tutus. An instant later the door burst open, the Powerpuff Girls arrived, and it was all over in a matter of seconds.

"Figured it had to be you losers," Buttercup muttered as the police marched the neighbors away for the umpteenth time.

Dexter exited the house with Harold's laser in his hand. "I've never seen a laser gun that needs an extension cord. This is not nearly as nice as the one that Princess had."

"Mr. Smith isn't nearly as smart as Mojo Jojo," Bubbles explained. "It was a good thing you got them to make so much noise. We weren't sure where you were in the house."

"How did you know it was us?" demanded Maryanne as she was led away.

"Simple," Blossom smiled. "We don't know any other criminal that would turn off the stove."

Standing together on the front lawn, they watched the police vehicles pull away. A collective sigh escaped them.

Utonium looked at the troop of children. "So, who's up for chilli?"

_"ME!"_ four hungry voices replied.

"Inside and wash up! Chop, chop!" he ordered, swatting at them to get moving. He smiled as they crowded through the door, laughing and exclaiming and wonderfully happy and alive. If he could have had one wish, Utonium would have asked for this summer to last forever.


	8. Blue to Green

**Invisible Sun**

A/N Aneko-Kitana has delivered some adorable and outstanding artwork for this story. The link to her deviantART site is on my profile, and the sketches are in her scrapbook. Check 'em out!

MollytheWanderer as written a very charming companion to this called _No Cake Please._ It deals with Dexter trying to deal with his birtday. It's posted here on FFN and it is most definitely worth checking out!

**Chapter Eight: Blue to Green**

"Hello-ooo!"

"Hello. This is Professor Utonium. I'm Dexter's friend from Townsville."

"Oh, hi!"

"Is this DeeDee?"

"Yup!"

"I thought I recognized your voice. You're just the person I wanted to talk to."

"Really? Me? What do you want to talk about? Did Dexter tell you about the new dance I'm learning for my recital?"

"Um, no, he didn't but I'll be sure to ask him to tell me. I actually wanted to ask you about your brother."

"Is he in trouble? Do you want to talk to him? He's in his lab right now."

"No, I wanted to talk to you. You see last week when he came to visit he seemed quieter than usual. We couldn't get him to tell us what was wrong, but I think something upset him."

"Oh, he always gets the blues like that on his birthday. I think he's given up on them ever being a nice day. Mom and Dad almost always get him the completely wrong thing."

"His birthday? When was that?"

"The 21st. He's eleven now."

"Oh. I see. I didn't know that. What did you get him, DeeDee?"

"Sheet music."

"Sheet music?"

"Yeah. He wrote down exactly what he wanted and where to get it, so I got it. It was easy. Something by a guy named after a pickle. Gherkin or some other."

"Gershwin?"

"That sounds close. It was something like, Wrapped in Blue."

"_Rhapsody in Blue_, I think. So Dexter's a musician?"

"Yeah. He plays the piano. Didn't you know? He didn't want to, but Mom got him lessons when he turned eight. That was a _bad_ year for his birthday. He asked for some brushes to clean his telescope and instead he got piano lessons."

"I . . . can imagine it made an impression."

"But he's really good. I mean really, really good. After a year or so he was a lot better than any of his teachers, so he wouldn't go back. Sometimes when he's in a good mood he'll play for me so I can practice ballet."

"Do you know what he asked your parents to get him for his birthday?"

"Yeah. Now this was weird, even for my little brother. He asked for Principle Newton's math book."

"Um . . . could he have meant _The Principia Mathematica_ by Sir Isaac Newton?"

"Uh, maybe. Yeah. That sounds better. I don't think Principle Newton takes math anymore."

"Do you know if your parents got it for him?"

"Mom tried, but she couldn't find it at the bookstore in the mall, so she got him another pair of those crazy boots he likes so much for in the lab and a gift certificate to the mall instead. I told her to get the boots because he was saying his other ones were dirty. Well, actually he said fuzzy, but they didn't look fuzzy when I saw them. He gets a little wound up about dirt now and then, but he was glad for the boots even though I think he wanted the book more."

"Yes, my girls noticed the boots."

"I think he burned the old ones in his reactor. He gave the certificate to me and told me to get another Pony Puff Princess figurine because he hates the mall so much he won't go. There's a special edition Fairy Princess Pony that's come out and I can't wait to get it. It's got all these crystal beads and -"

"I'm sorry, DeeDee, but . . . did Dexter have a party?"

"No. He doesn't like them very much and he didn't want one. Mom asked. He hasn't got many friends and a lot of kids from school are away on vacation now anyway. We had cake and ice cream and a barbecue and then he went back to his lab to work on some generator-thing he needs for his next project."

"I see. Can I ask you to do something for me?"

"Sure!"

"Please don't tell Dexter that we spoke. I was concerned for him because he was so quiet last week and I don't want him to think I was prying into his personal business. Can you do that?"

"I won't tell anyone, Professor!"

"Thank you. I appreciate it. And I'll be sure to ask after your dance."

"Okay! Call again! B'bye!"

Utonium hung up the phone. So that was DeeDee. Dexter spoke of her with the typical contempt of a younger brother, but plainly they were devoted to one another. He sighed, wishing he had known about Dexter's birthday. His daughters' voices reached him from where they were playing outside and he thought back on their birthday celebrations. The girls were popular not just for their abilities but for whom they were, and they celebrated in grand style. He couldn't imagine not making some sort of fuss over them.

The more he knew of Dexter, the more he understood – or at least thought he understood. The arrogance, the aloofness was a defensive move, whether Dexter realized it or not. Though calculated to protect him from being harmed, he was only a child and there were chinks in his armor. That he had so few friends was obvious, but it was equally obvious that being used to isolation, he did not really know how to reach out for support. Had he been so alone his whole life?

He walked to the window and leaned against the frame as he watched his daughters play a game of catch in midair. They were laughing and teasing one another, enjoying the day and the camaraderie they shared. So bright. So beautiful. He had done so well.

What then of Dexter's parents? Utonium suspected that when he finally met them he would find affectionate and bland parents that were grossly outclassed by the blazing intellect they had produced. People of average intelligence and aspirations, perfectly normal, perfectly respectable, and completely out of their league when it came to dealing with a child that was anything but typical. He felt for them . . . almost as much as he envied them.

He watched as Bubbles twisted and whipped the ball to Buttercup. With a shout of, "That all you got, Powderpuff?" Buttercup threw it back and ratcheted the game up a notch. He smiled, grateful once again that she had avoided summer school.

Something about Dexter appealed to all three of his daughters, and he was mildly surprised that they had not wearied of his company or ever complained about his frequent visits. It probably helped that Dexter spent as much time in the lab with Utonium as he did with the girls, and that Utonium treated the boy with the respect he deserved. It was a pleasure to be able to discuss and debate science with a peer, young though he may be, and for all his quirks (or in part because of them), Utonium found Dexter uncommonly good company and he looked forward to time spent with the boy in and out of his lab. There were also the facts that he filled a brotherly role for the girls and he intrigued them utterly.

For Buttercup, Dexter was a challenge. She thought he was wonderfully boring and in desperate need of instructions on kicking back and enjoying life more. Since he had taught her math, she was determined to teach him how to loosen up. Blossom enjoyed his conversation, and they could talk for hours on end about literature and history and natural science. Utonium suspected that Dexter's intelligence intimidated her a little bit, but in a way that made her read more in order to be able to deepen their discussions. As for Bubbles, the sweetest of his daughters managed to bring out the inherent kindness of the boy. He seemed to surprise himself – but not her – at the extent of his own desire to please them.

And he did please them. He delighted and entertained them. He made them laugh - intentionally or not - and they in turn liked to make him laugh. They admired his inventive streak and his genius even when they had no idea of what he was talking about, and they thought his accent was nothing short of smashing. The girls were always happy to show him off to anyone, and more than once Bubbles had asked the Professor if they could simply keep him. If only it was that simply he would have gladly complied.

The capacity for love was clearly there. What, then, of Dexter's opportunities to express it?

****

OoOoOoOoOoOoO

"Professor . . ."

It was not an antique. It was not a particularly attractive copy of the famous book. But it had come from Utonium's own library, handed down through three generations of college professors. His own calculus teacher had been presented with the book from his instructor's collection when he graduated, and so it passed to Utonium when he graduated with his Master's degree. The slightly worn, leather-bound copy of _Philosophiae Naturalis Principia Mathematica_ by Sir Isaac Newton filled Dexter's small hands, and he read the successions of inscriptions inside the front cover with unmistakable awe and satisfaction at seeing his own name at the end of the list. Closing it, he laid his palm on the cover with reverence, as much for the knowledge contained therein as for the sentimental value attached to the giving. He looked up, blinking rapidly and softly he said,

"Thank you, sir."

Utonium smiled, sensing his great emotion. "Happy birthday, Dexter."

"How did you know?"

He could not deceive him. "I spoke to DeeDee when you were so down last week."

A wry little smile touched his lips at what must have been revealed and he fondly said, "She is a good sister."

"Yeah, well, so are we," said Buttercup defensively, interrupting the moment in her usual brash way. Flanked by her sisters, she thrust their present at him. "Here! Open it up! And stop keeping important stuff like this from us!"

Confused, Dexter gave her the frown she expected and tore open the wrapping, also as expected. He opened his mouth in surprise, and then let out a little sigh midway between pleasure and surrender as he paged through the books of piano music.

"She_ had_ to tell you."

"Well, it's pretty obvious you sure weren't gonna say anything!" accused Buttercup. "Do you know how cool it is that you can play piano?"

"No," he replied, in a tone calculated to get her wound up. "Tell me."

"Argh!" she cried, tempted to strangle him for his own good. "It's wicked cool! You need to get a keyboard so we can have a jam session!"

Bubbles and Blossom laughed, and Blossom reached forward and moved one of the slim books to the top of the stack.

"I picked this one out. I've heard it before and I really liked it. I thought you might, too."

"_The Firebird Suite_ by Stravinsky. Oh, thank you, Blossom."

"We don't have a piano," said Bubbles, "but Mrs. Martin across the street does and she said you could use it. So if you ever feel like playing while you're visiting . . ."

He smiled, and quietly promised, "I will play for you."

****

OoOoOoOoOoOoO

"Hey, Red, ain't it a bit hot for gloves?"

Dexter lifted his nose out of the _Principia Mathematica_. He was seated on the front step of the Utonium house, waiting for the girls to get back from the harbor. They had left an hour ago to help with a fire that broke out on a cargo ship. The Professor was busy transcribing some barely-legible notes he'd taken in the midst of his latest experiment in genetics. Hearing the man growl in annoyance and frustration as he chewed on his pipe and glared at his own handwriting, Dexter had decided a hasty retreat was the wisest course of action and left him to his deciphering in his basement lab. Dexter wasn't sure if it was aggravation at his own poor writing or anxiety over his daughters off fighting infernos, but undoubtedly a wide berth was called for at the moment. Besides, the lure of Newton was too tempting to disregard and he was perfectly happy to gloat over his birthday present in peace. He'd sat up a good part of the night with the intent to read it, but mostly he had stared at the writing and dates on the inside cover. A first edition copy of the book could not have pleased him half so well as this hand-me-down from a succession of learned men.

But now . . .

He was faced by a green-skinned, greasy-haired, sharp-featured, rather tubular teenager with beady eyes and a conniving air. He stood just a few paces away on the lawn, leering at him the way a snake looks at a mouse. Dexter gave him a hard look before snapping, "Not in my line of work."

Closing the book, he stood, fully intending to enter the house and lock the door before alerting the Professor that there was someone green in the front yard. He had no sooner stood, though, when the teen shoved him right back down by sheer force. Dexter hit the step, falling to his side, and he could see now that his attacker wasn't alone.

Either they were all related or they all grew up drinking the same tainted water, because the other four misfits behind the tubular boy were just as green, greasy, and twisted. Even throwing Fuzzy Lumpkins into the mix, they were the strangest assortment of humanoids Dexter had ever seen. They ranged in appearance from squat to hulking with a grotesque thrown in the mix. Wonderful. A matched set of bullies.

Well. Bullies he could deal with. Grade school had been good for one thing, at least. He might not be able to _handle_ so many at once, but he could deal with them.

"Oh, Snake, he fell down!" said an oily voice. "Help him up!"

He was yanked upright roughly, only to be thrust right back down. The book fell from his hand at the impact.

"Get your hands off of me!" he snapped. "Get off this property!"

"Feisty," said the oily voice. The speaker was as close to normal-looking as this crew got, a tall, shaggy-haired youth with dark sunglasses and a flip attitude. He stood next to Dexter's attacker, looking down with amusement and a superior smirk, and scooped up the book.

"_Philosophiae Naturalis Principia Mathematica_," he slowly read, massacring the Latin. "Hmm. I didn't think she'd go for the brainy type."

"And short, too," added the little green sprout, looking Dexter over with interest. He had a heavy Latino accent that Dexter could barely follow.

"She . . . ? Oh, not you, too!" muttered Dexter. Did all of Townsville think he and Buttercup were an item? He slapped the boy's hands away from him, revolted by his cold touch. "Unhand that book!"

The shaggy-haired teenager - plainly the leader of this troop of miscreants - laughed. He dangled the book overhead, mocking and teasing. "Unhand? Oh, that's great!"

The others hesitantly laughed. If Dexter had no concern for his birthday gift he would have fought to get to the front door, but the sight of the Professor's book in the possession of this thug made Dexter's stomach twist with sickening dread. No good could come of this situation unless the girls got home right now or the Professor chose this moment to come looking for him.

__

Please, Professor . . .

The hulking brute and the grotesque drew closer, cutting off any escape save a retreat, and the boy named Snake was still too close to him for Dexter to reach and open the door. Dexter got to his feet, fixing his glasses as he did so, and then he stood there, waiting to see what they intended to do.

When it became apparent that he wasn't going to play their games the leader laughed as if he wasn't fooled by the way Dexter ignored his hectoring. It was obvious he wasn't used to having anyone stand up to him, and he masked his unease in even heavier-handed tactics.

"So what does Buttercup see in you, Red?" he asked, producing amused laughs from his gang. He flicked his wrist and landed a sharp little hit on Dexter's cheek. "She think you're funny? Or does she just like your for your brain? Sure ain't for looks!"

"Or height!" added the midget, who seemed obsessed.

He did not care what they said about him - nothing they could say about his appearance or size would be anything he had not heard before - but to hear his friend so maligned was almost enough to set Dexter over the edge. By sheer force of will he kept himself from lashing out physically or verbally. It would not help to let this hooligan know he had touched on a vulnerable spot by dragging the Powerpuff Girls into this, and so he waited to see what they would do and looked for his chance to bolt.

Another slap. He rolled with the blow, lessening its effect with the motion. Amused, the leader stuck again, and again, and Dexter let himself be driven back.

He whirled, lunging for the front door of the Utonium house. His hand closed on the knob. "Prof-"

A cold hand clamped over his mouth, cutting off his cry, as his hands were knocked away from the door. Dexter bit the offending gag as he was seized bodily around the waist. His attack had no effect save to produce a hiss from Snake - instead the hand shifted to cover his nose as well, cutting off his air. He was dragged kicking and struggling from the front step. Desperately, he clawed at the hand across his face but he was too small to have any effect on Snake's grip. His vision was growing black at the edges. Panicked, he did the only thing he could think of - he swiped at his glasses, knocking them from his face and into the grass. If they were found the Utoniums would know something was amiss.

He heard jeering, nervous laughter, and then darkness ovewhelmed him.

****

OoOoOoOoOoOoO

Finally. He was done. Utonium sighed, annoyed with himself. It had taken forever to transcribe these notes into something legible. He knew better than to drink anything stronger than lemonade when he was taking notes. Had long nights and early mornings in college not taught him _anything_? A glance at the clock made him do a double-take. It was past three in the afternoon. Had the girls come home? Surely they would have announced their presence. And where was Dexter?

The Professor remembered the boy's expression when he had started in on the notes and he realized he must have chased him off with his surly attack on the notes. He hoped Dexter had sense enough to have eaten lunch, but somehow he doubted it. In no mood to cook, Utonium was taking the children for pizza tonight and he was looking forward to asking Dexter what he thought of the book. This morning he had found the boy asleep with the book on his chest and the light still on. He was delighted that Dexter was so pleased with so simple a gesture, and Utonium derived a certain satisfaction out of being able to give him exactly what he wanted most for his birthday.

Upstairs the house was quiet, so he knew the girls couldn't be home. They would be exhausted when they got back. Fighting fires in this heat? Perhaps he'd order in instead . . .

"Dexter?"

No answer. No dishes or cups were in the dish washer, so he certainly hadn't eaten. That came as no surprise. He had never known a boy that ate less than this one, to the point where it was cause for concern. Utonium checked the back yard just in case. Dexter rarely went outside of his own accord and the yard was empty.

"Dexter?"

He walked through the house, checking each room, even the girls' room though Dexter would not venture in there unless dragged. Office, bedroom, bathroom, library - all empty.

"Dexter?"

A twinge of worry seized him. Hurrying down the stairs, Utonium paused when he saw the front door was not closed all the way. Quickly he opened the door, fully expecting to find the redhead sitting on the step and melting in the sun from his too-heavy clothes, too absorbed in his book to move, and burned to a crisp.

"There you - aren't," he finished in disappointment.

No Dexter. No note. No nothing.

No book, either, he noticed. Perhaps he'd gone for a walk? Utonium felt a pang of guilt. Had he been such a bear this morning?

A glint caught his eye, a shiny reflection in the grass. Hurrying over, Utonium felt a chill spread through him colder than a January frost as he lifted Dexter's glasses. Instantly he knew something terrible had happened. Without these, Dexter was practically blind. He'd never just leave them behind.

Clutching the glasses, he looked around, studying the lawn. The grass was in need of mowing as always, but for once he was glad he hadn't gotten to it because now that he was looking he could clearly see a number of trails from the street and driveway angled toward the front of the house. Keeping to the walkway, he went to the street, staring at the gravel in the road. He could see three sets of shoe marks in the grit that lined up with the paths on his lawn.

He forced himself to take a deep breath to quell the panic building inside. Had Dexter been kidnapped? Why else would he drop his glasses? They knew he had been targeted by the criminal element of Townsville - why hadn't he thought to tell him not to go outside alone? Utonium looked across the street at Mrs. Martin's house. She was the single nosiest person on the planet and kept a constant vigil on the neighborhood. Most of the time Utonium dismissed her as a harmless busybody, but right now she was his best hope. If anyone had seen anything, it was she.

Moments later she answered to his pounding on her front door. Before he could ask the elderly widow gave him a disappointed look and crossly demanded, "High time you showed up, young man! Don't you answer your phone anymore? And who are all those seasick boys that were at your house?"


	9. Summer and Smoke

**Invisible Sun**

**Chapter Nine: Summer and Smoke**

"Duh, Powerpuff Girls hotline."

"Mayor, this is Professor Utonium. I need-"

"Oh, hi, Professor! How are you?"

"I'm in a rush. I need to contact my daughters immediately."

"Oh. Well. Why don't you call their hotline?"

"I _am_. They're at the harbor helping put out the fire on the freighter."

"Oh, it's not just on the freighter anymore. The dockyard is on fire, too, I hear, and another ship and a couple of nice yatchs."

"I need to speak to them. It's an emergency."

"They're at the harbor. Have you tried calling them?"

"Yes! I'm calling _you_!"

"So . . . what do you want?"

"I want to get a message to my girls! It's a matter of life and death!"

"Sounds important."

"Life and death usually are, Mayor! Can you contact the police or fire department to give them a message?"

"Mmm. I suppose I can try. What do you want to tell them?"

"Tell them to call or come home immediately."

"The police and firemen?"

"NO! My daughters! The Powerpuff Girls!"

"Okay, but they're fighting a fire!"

"_Tell them! Now!"_

The Mayor let out a wail and Utonium slammed the phone down, panting in fury. How had that idiot managed to garner enough votes to stay in office so long?

What to do? What could he do? Odds were it would be useless to call the fire or police departments himself. The message would most likely get lost. The Gangreen Gang had Dexter - roughed him up a bit, too, if Mrs. Martin was right (and he had never known her to be wrong in cases like this, busybody that she was). Utonium sank down into a chair, feeling sick to his stomach with anxiety. If Dexter was hurt, if he came to any sort of injury, Utonium would never forgive himself.

**OoOoOoOoOoOoO**

"You realize this is kidnapping."

"Figured you'd be used to it by now," snickered Little Arturo.

"Zip it, Arturo. Fancy title," observed Ace, picking up the leather-bound book. "That French?"

"Latin," Dexter corrected, hating to see something so precious in such undeserving hands.

"I bet you know what it means."

"'Mathematical principles of natural philosophy.' It contains the statement of Newton's laws of motion and universal gravitation, as well as a derivation on Kepler's laws for the motion of the planets."

That was the most he had said since being brought to the shabby, little hideout this gang called home. He had woken up within minutes of blacking out to find himself in the back seat of a souped-up green hatchback that had an excellent stereo but no air conditioning, firmly wedged between the oaf and the grotesque with the midget sitting on his feet as if he was in a position to escape. The shaggy-haired teen drove and Snake rode shotgun. Stuck in afternoon traffic for hours because of the fires in the harbor, the smell of sweat and unwashed bodies was overpowering. It had almost been a relief when they pulled into a large dump on the edge of town. The air outside the car was slightly less revolting than air inside, smelling strongly of refuse and smoke and raining fine, gritty ash from the harbor fire down upon them. Dexter had a headache as much from the stench as from dehydration.

And now he sat in the corner of their hot and dirty shack with his back to the wall and at least two of the minions always on guard and asking stupid questions he would not answer. Occasionally one of them would try to kick or hit him for their own pleasure, but it was just posturing and he ignored their brainless efforts at intimidation. He was tempted to take his gloves off because he was so very hot in this stifling room, but given a choice between being hot and touching the filthy boards, Dexter opted to sweat it out, at least for now.

He had spent the whole ride here listening and learning and he knew now that he was an impromptu guest of the Gangreen Gang. Ace (the shaggy-haired leader, who actually had fangs), Snake (the one he had bitten, causing Dexter to worry how long it had been since his last tetanus booster), Grubber (the wall-eyed, humpbacked grotesque that seemed to think blowing raspberries was an accepted form of communication), Big Billy (the lumbering oaf), and Little Arturo (the midget, a Mexican given to unpredictable fits of malice) were the sum and total of their ranks. All were green-skinned, angry, thick, and the very definition of bullies.

Ace seemed strangely drawn to the book, though Dexter was fairly certain that unless he had just moved to Townsville from Antarctica, he must have seen one before. Like Dexter had the night before, he stared long and hard at the names and brief notes inside the front cover. After a while he looked at Dexter with a knowing leer.

"Dexter, eh?" He smirked when he got no response as if Dexter's silence was all part of some greater scheme of his. "Well, happy birthday, Dexter. Isn't that sweet? The Professor gave you a book."

He was a master of the obvious. From where he sat in the far corner, Ace was little more than a black-topped, multi-colored blur to Dexter since he did not have his glasses. He was actually relieved he could not see clearly. The Gangreen Gang members were hideous in and of themselves, and their personalities were little better. And their leader was undoubtedly the worst of them.

"I thought his name was Duster," Big Billy drawled stupidly.

"Law? Faugh!" Little Arturo muttered, whipping out his switchblade comb and running it through his dirty hair as if this somehow proved a point.

"But these are laws of _nature,_" corrected Ace sagely, adopting a pompous air and waving the volume about. "You can't fight nature. Speakin' of nature, go outside and enjoy it for a while, Arturo. Take Billy with ya. I wanna talk to Red here."

When the midget did not respond immediately, Ace swung and hit. Little Arturo rubbed his sore face, glowering fiercely, but he obeyed, shoving the oaf in front of him. With a hard glare, the gang leader watched them leave. Arturo grumbled at every inconvenienced step and he slammed the door hard enough to make the shack rattle. Ace turned to find Dexter watching him as intensely as his blurred vision would allow. That he could not intimidate this boy put Ace out of sorts, though what he wanted from him had nothing to do with his gang or any kind of gain. This was personal.

"So tell me, Dexter," Ace began, trying to be nonchalant but betrayed by his eager tone, "are you as smart as they say you are?"

When no answer came, Ace smiled. "Guess not. So what's the story with you and Buttercup?" he asked casually. His teeth were very white against his green complexion, though Dexter was grateful he could not see those fangs. The head of the Gangreen Gang drew closer, looming over the boy, and something about his stance, about the tension in his lean body told Dexter that this was not mockery of any sort after all. He was serious. Why was this hoodlum so anxious to know about Buttercup? Dexter stared up at him, frowning in confusion and regretting the laser gun he had taken from Princess, presently in the bottom of his backpack in the living room of the Utonium house. After the incident with Maryann Smith he had resolved to arm himself, but he honestly had not expected to be attacked on the front step of the Powerpuff Girls' home.

"Oh, she never told you about us? I'm hurt. See, Buttercup used to have a thing for me a few years back. She was amusing and it was useful for a while." He looked Dexter over with a sneer. "But I don't like being replaced, especially not by some skinny little geek in – where are your glasses?"

Though he was tempted to remind Ace that he was almost as skinny and wore glasses, Dexter said nothing. There was nothing to say. He knew from experience that answering to bullies – especially clever ones - was anti-productive. Not that silence would get him anywhere, either. He knew that no matter what he said or did, he could not win in this situation.

"Oh, Dexter," breathed Ace, soft and dangerous as he realized what must have happened. "I guess you _are_ that smart. Or you think you are. So you left them for your girl to find." He drew back, furious that at himself for not noticing hours ago, furious at Dexter for being able to think so fast and leave a clue behind, furious that Buttercup could or would be interested in anyone else, especially anyone so clean cut. She had gotten under his skin years ago and Ace realized that he, at least, had never quite gotten over her, for all it looked as if Buttercup had gotten over him. When word had reached his ears that Buttercup had been smitten by a short, four-eyed nerd that talked like a Bolshevik expatriate, Ace _had_ to know. No, more than that. He _needed_ to know who and what had taken his place.

And now he had the competition firmly in hand and he was not impressed. A skinny little twit - not even Ace could call this kid a punk since he was the furthest thing from tough - had replaced him? He would have been insulted if he didn't know that there had to be more to this kid than met the eye - much more. Buttercup would never fall for anyone so short and _boring_.

He looked down at Dexter's birthday gift still clutched in his hands, then at the boy jammed in the corner of the shack. He opened the _Principia_, paging through it with grubby fingers. Pausing, he studied one of the diagrams that were meaningless to him, and in a sudden motion he closed his fist and ripped the page from the book.

Dexter gasped. He would rather Ace had hit him. Instantly he regretted reacting because he had just given his tormentor all the ammunition he needed to hurt him.

"Maybe we'll hold a little contest," announced Ace, crumbling the page and tossing it at his captive. "We'll see who's sorrier that you're such a brainiac – you," and he tore out another page, "or Buttercup."

As Dexter watched Ace slowly and gleefully destroy his gift, he suspected he already knew the answer.

**OoOoOoOoOoOoO**

"_WHAT?_ You didn't tell them?"

Breathless, panting, dripping with sweat, ready to drop from heat and exhaustion, Utonium wanted nothing more right now than to throttle the fire chief. The only thing stopping him was the presence of the cop who had recognized him and escorted him past the cordons. Unable to wait at home any longer, the Professor had braved the crush of rush hour traffic to get as close to the harbor as he could. He was forced to park over a mile away, and he had run most of that distance only to discover upon arriving at the bustling scene that Mayor had sent his message, but the fire chief had refused to deliver it.

"See that?" demanded the grizzled chief, pointing to the thick banks of smoke filling the air. "That's a cargo ship on fire. See that?" He pointed to a series of tanks not far from the bank of the river. "That's the fuel depot. Figure it out!"

"They're _my_ daughters!" hissed Utonium, more furious than he had ever been before. "There's a life at stake!"

"And this is _our_ city, Utonium, and your daughters are helping to save it from being blown to kingdom come! We can't spare them!"

"How dare you -"

"Chief!" bellowed a lieutenant, stumping up to them with his heavy turnout gear clanking. The man was sooty from head to foot and as breathless as Utonium. "Chief, they've got the second ship knocked down finally. The two yachts are goners. Wind's carrying sparks that might reach the dump. They're reporting spot fires between the quay and the dump."

The fire chief let out a hiss. Without another glance at Utonium he rushed off, leaving the Professor to his frustration. He looked up, scanning the smoky sky, and a streak of bright pink shot overhead.

"Blossom! BLOSSOM!"

An instant later his daughter hovered in the air before him at eye level. She looked harried and spent, streaked with dirt and oil and her bow drooping with sweat from a long, hard day of battling a fire. The presence of her father at this scene of emergency was enough to fill her with renewed energy, and her pink eyes were wide with alarm.

"Professor! What's wrong? What are you doing here?" She looked around for Utonium's short, weekend shadow. "Where's Dexter?"

"The Gangreen Gang has him."

She gasped, her hands covering her mouth. Beneath the dirt coating her, Blossom went pale.

"It happened about an hour after you left," he said, rushing to get the words out. "I didn't leave the lab until almost three. I tried to get a message to you girls." He shook his head, panic and guilt gripping him anew.

"They'll hurt him," she whispered, horrified. She had heard the rumors started by Princess Morbucks - Buttercup and Dexter were the talk of the town within the crime and crime-fighting circles as the latest power couple on the scene. When she first heard the gossip, Blossom had entertained a lingering fear that Ace would remember the crush Buttercup once harbored for him and come to size up the competition. Or what would be perceived as competition. The Gangreen Gang needed no motivation for what they did – they enjoyed mayhem and inflicting pain and pushing people around simply because they could. They would break something valuable before stealing it, and they targeted the small and weak because odds were against them hitting back.

And while Dexter was far from weak, he certainly was small, and he was grossly outmatched in size, strength, and savagery.

"You've got to find him."

She looked at the huge ship still burning from within, at the fire boats and fire crews pumping river water into great jets into the vessel, assessing the situation. The Professor rarely gave direct orders, but when he did she knew to listen.

"Blossom."

"I know." The leader of the Powerpuff Girls nodded. "We're on it, Professor. Wait here! And let the chief know we'll be back!"

She shouted that last as she rose into the smoky sky. Sick with anxiety, Utonium could do nothing more but watch her go.


	10. Fahrenheit 451

**Invisible Sun**

**Chapter Ten: Fahrenheit 451**

It was destroyed. The first gift that Dexter had ever truly valued had been torn to shreds and flung on the floor at his feet. He stared at the crumbled pages, and with his blurred vision he was reminded of scattered bones, pathetic and sad and bereft. What would the Professor think? There was a strange tightness in his throat, and he felt as if a trust had been broken. Logic said that it was simply a book and easily replaced, but Dexter's heart cried out that it had once been the Professor's and he had failed to keep it safe. And now it was gone forever.

Ace was smiling as if he'd just accomplished something laudable, enjoying the degree of control Dexter was exerting over his emotions, enjoying the power to make another human being miserable. It was so very petty. With nothing left upon which Ace could vent his jealousy, Dexter knew full well that he was next in line.

"Gonna cry, Dexter?" taunted Ace.

Yes, he was going to cry. Just not here and not for this hooligan's pleasure. Dexter looked away from the remains of the book, steeling himself and applying one of the few thing he ever learned in elementary school: self control.

Ace leaned forward as if for a better look at him, but the tension in his lean frame bespoke trouble. "So what _does_ Buttercup see in you?"

Dexter gazed up at this green-tinted bully. He was terribly thirsty and it was like a sauna in the little shack. Despite his best efforts, he could only manage a tone just above a whisper. "Why don't you ask her?"

"'Cause she ain't here and you are."

"Not yet," Dexter replied, and in this case a threat was as good as a promise.

"Her attitude's really changed lately," Ace growled. His hands clenched into fists. His ire was growing and his control was almost non-existent. "She's been all goody two-shoes."

"Only because she's tired of having to apologize all the time." To distract him from getting physical Dexter quickly added, "She sees me as a challenge."

It worked. That was the last response Ace expected.

"What?"

"A challenge. I'm completely out of Buttercup's experience, and so she's challenged at every turn to understand me."

"That's it?"

What _did_ she like about him? Besides the fact that he had taught her long division and saved her from summer school? "That and the accent."

"So let me get this straight, _Dexter_. You're saying you're out of her league?"

He sighed, coughing and shaking his head before leaning back against the wall. He was starting to feel sick and the air in this little oven was getting thicker. How could they abide the stench even without the smoke? "I said nothing of the sort."

Ace sneered, enjoying his version of wordplay as he twisted Dexter's speech to suit his own wants. Since he wanted to beat this kid into mulch for taking his place in Buttercup's affections, it was a simple task to hear just enough to give him every excuse he needed. Striding over, he hauled Dexter to his feet by the front of his lab coat, picking him up off the ground and slamming him down onto his feet. He was saved by falling only by Ace's grip on him, not that it mattered. A moment later he was shoved back against the wall hard enough that he gave an involuntary gasp, his hands splayed against the boards to stay upright.

"So she's not good enough for you, huh?" Ace hissed.

He lashed out, knocking Dexter back to the ground amidst the crumbled pages of the _Principia_. Dexter did not need to be a genius to know this was the worst possible spot to be right now. Kicks landed to his ribs and thigh before he managed to twist out of the way, causing Ace to drive his foot into the wall. The gang leader hissed a curse and yanked Dexter upright again. Dexter braced himself, waiting for the next blow to land and watching Ace with weary, wary eyes.

Then Ace paused, staring at him. Something in Dexter's expression made him stop. He was clever enough to realize that this particular victim did not fear _him _as much as what he could do. Ace could beat and humiliate all he wanted and Dexter would remain unmoved. By destroying the book, Ace had destroyed his hold on Dexter's spirit and now nothing he did now could touch him.

****

OoOoOoOoOoOoO

Ace hesitated, a rare enough event in his life that he realized it even as it happened. Dexter was staring at him with tired, distant eyes and it suddenly dawned on the Gangreen Gang leader that he cut no ice with this kid. Nothing he said or did could intimidate or impress him. Dexter wasn't fearless, but Ace wasn't anything that he feared.

And _that_, he realized, was what Buttercup saw.

Without the ability to generate fear, there was no pleasure left in this for Ace. Disappointed, angry with himself and the boy he was picking on and with Buttercup for preferring him, he shoved Dexter away. Ace considered, watching Dexter inch back against the wall. He could unleash the others on the kid and watch them beat him flat, but what would be the point? The rest of the gang would never cotton on to the fact that outside of some blood and bruises, they would have zero effect on this boy save to _really_ ignite the fury of the Powerpuff Girls and as it stood they were in hot enough water already.

He twisted around as the door burst open, and he half-expected to see the girls storm to the rescue, trampling the Gangreen Gang in the process like they usually did. Instead it was just Snake, whose fear of Ace was genuine and refreshing.

"Ace," he hissed, staying close to the door so he could make a quick escape if his gang leader went ballistic on him for interrupting. "Dump's on fire! It's spreading! We gotta get outta here!"

"Okay, okay. Quit with the panic."

"What about the dweeb?"

Together they looked at Dexter. Pale and drained, he stared back so steadily that Ace fought the desire to squirm.

"We might need 'em," Ace said with a bravado he really did not feel. "Bring 'em."

Once again Snake laid hold of Dexter and yanked him outside. The atmosphere was heavy with smoke and the stench of burning garbage and it was cooler only in that the air was moving off the river. Unfortunately it carried smoke and ash from the cargo ships, lending a strange haze to the twilight and casting the sky into a sickly yellow color, blocking out the setting sun but not its lingering heat.

Dexter's mind was awhirl. He knew the last thing he wanted was to be removed by these hoodlums to places unknown. If the Powerpuff Girls somehow managed to figure out the Gangreen Gang had taken him, this ratty hole would be the first place they would look and his chances of survival were far better away from them than with them. Besides, the thought of being jammed in a car between Big Billy and Grubber again was enough to make a burning landfill seem appealing by comparison.

Snake's grip slackened slightly as they moved toward that sorry green hatchback and Dexter seized the opportunity. He bent his knees, dropping his weight abruptly enough to twist out of Snake's clammy grasp.

"Sssss!" hissed the scrawny teen, lunging and missing.

Angry shouts erupted behind Dexter as he ran for it. The shack was deep enough in the dump that there were great hills of refuse piled up nearby. He darted between heaps of broken furniture and twisted metal, hearing the Gangreen Gang in close pursuit. Smoke sullied the air, making his eyes and throat sting. Dexter cast about desperately, able to hear footsteps nearby, and he ducked behind a jumble of building materials as Grubber lumbered past with Little Arturo. Through breaks in his cover he could see both gang members looking about unenthusiastically, plainly more interested in getting out of here than finding their latest victim. Dexter held his breath, trying hard not to cough and to suppress his panting.

"Let's get back," said Arturo, coughing. "Ace wants him, Ace can come find him."

He waited until they were well away to emerge from his hiding spot. He leaned on the stack of wood and metal, trying to see through the growing haze. It was hopeless. He wouldn't have been able to see with his glasses.

Suddenly the wood beneath his hands shifted, spilling forward. Dexter staggered clumsily as the pile tumbled over with a loud crash. He started to pick his way through the mess when a groaning sound behind him made him turn. The rest of the mound of rotten lumber and shingles and sheet rock, unsupported in this corner now, was coming down. With a shout he tried to run away, stumbling over his own feet and the strewn trash to escape the avalanche.

Something hit him in the legs, knocking him flat. Dexter cried out in surprise and pain as the last few falling boards and beams landed on him, pinning him by the legs. Sprawled on the damp, stinking ground, the air was a bit more breathable. Dexter twisted around as best he could to assess his situation. He felt a burning sensation in his right leg as he tried to work his way free. There was nothing for him to grab and pull himself from beneath the weight of the beams, and he laid at such an angle that he absolutely no leverage. His right leg was well and truly stuck.

And even as the sun set, the night was getting hotter as the fires grew closer.

****

OoOoOoOoOoOoO

Blossom made it a point to stick close to Buttercup. The news that the Gangreen Gang had snatched Dexter from their own front yard kindled her wrath to a degree that was frightening, and Blossom knew her sister was more than capable of carrying out her threat to tear Ace limb from limb if Dexter came to harm. In her heart of hearts Blossom was grateful for this fury against the leader of the Gangreen Gang. Buttercup had sworn time and again that she was over him, but her rage proved it.

Bubbles was not mad – not yet. Right now she was worried about finding their friend and getting him away from his kidnappers. Blossom knew her sister well enough to know that her anger would emerge only after Dexter was safe. She was so mild and lost her temper so infrequently that when she did get angry, it was always sensational.

Her own feelings were, as usual, midway between Blossom and Buttercup. She was anxious for what might happen to Dexter, she was infuriated at the audacity of the Gangreen Gang to waylay - and undoubtedly abuse – one of the smartest, kindest, and most interesting people she had ever known. Though she suspected that in his own element Dexter could be a very different sort of person – she had caught a glimpse of his temper the day after they had met – what she knew and saw of him she liked very much. Besides, the Professor thought the world of Dexter and looked forward to his visits as much as she and her sisters did.

They tore through the smoky sky toward the city dump. Seeing as how the Gangreen Gang had their lair there, that was the nearest and most logical place to start. The fire had spread, carried by the wind, and there were spot fires scattered in the heaps of trash and old tires. The smoke was too thick for them to spot the Gangreen Gang's hideout from on high and they dropped down low to the ground. Unaffected by the dense atmosphere, they coughed instead at the awful stench of rot and waste.

"There!"

They looked to where Buttercup pointed and instantly they spotted the run-down structure, cobbled together from scraps and junk and barely visible amidst the piles of refuse. The door was open and there was no sign of the gang's green car.

"Come on!" called Blossom.

The Powerpuff Girls landed and burst into the shack, and as one they exclaimed,

"Dexter!"

It was empty. There was nothing in here but battered furniture and crumbled wads of paper scattered on the floor. Cautiously they looked around, and then Blossom picked up one of the papers and smoothed it out.

"He was here," she said. "This is from the book the Professor gave him."

They looked at the papers blowing about the floor like leaves, realizing the fate of Dexter's birthday present from their father.

"Those rats killed his book!" cried Buttercup. "That's it. They're dead."

Bubbles picked up a page, sadly uncrumpling the sheet. Dexter had been so thrilled with the book. "Why would they do that?"

"Because they like to hurt people," hissed their dark-haired sister, ashamed to have ever associated with the gang.

Blossom turned to them and ordered, "Spread out. Let's see if they're still nearby. I'll check for tracks."

She found tracks almost immediately. The spongy ground showed a small set of marks leading deeper into the dump. She recognized the treads because just last week she and her sisters had made a fuss over Dexter's new boots, little realizing they had been a birthday gift. Tracks went out, but she didn't see them come back. Had he bolted away? She hoped.

"This way!"

Instantly her sisters joined in the chase. The smoke was getting hotter and denser as more of the dump caught fire. A weird glow filled the twilight as fires illuminated the heavy smoke. They searched, looking for a white coat, a flash of red hair, any sign of their friend. Blossom felt panic rising in her chest. What if she was wrong? What if they missed him in the fading light? What if he wasn't here at all, but had been taken somewhere they didn't know about? What if –

"Here! Here, here, here!" Bubbles suddenly shrieked, and a thrill of hope coursed through them all.

She was on the ground by a collapsed pile of rubble, throwing aside boards and scraps of metal pinning Dexter's legs. He was conscious and coughing, still trying to get free of the debris trapping him, and he let out a gasp when he spotted them. Buttercup gave a happy shout and landed next to him, dancing about a bit at the hot ground. Patches of the nearby earth were smoldering. Satisfied that he was alive, she laid hold of a metal beam and with a mighty heave she lifted it and half the pile of rubble, allowing Blossom to haul Dexter clear.

There was no time to waste. They had no idea if Dexter was injured or what he had been exposed to in these fumes. Blossom helped the boy up and Bubbles, right beside him, scooped him into her arms. He made no protest, too tired and hot and glad to be free to do more than cling to her neck and drop his head in exhaustion.

"Quick! Get him back to the Professor as fast as you can!" said Blossom. She looked up as the glow grew brighter. The fire was growing. "Come on!"

The three girls tore into the sky at full speed. One was ecstatic, one was anxious, and one was outraged, but all were relieved beyond telling to have found their friend.

****

OoOoOoOoOoOoO

"Professor! We found him! I got him!" Bubbles called needlessly as she landed in the patch of grass where the fire fighters and police were staged, her sisters a second behind her. She had flown hard and fast to get back to the waterfront and her father's relief to see them and the burden she carried was evident. "He's – Dexter?"

At the Professor's alarmed expression, she looked down and her eyes grew huge. Beneath the dirt coating him, Dexter's face was colorless and he was completely limp in her arms. She stared, having fully expected him to be awake . . . smiling . . . breathing . . . _alive_ . . .

"Dexter? _Dexter!"_

Utonium rushed forward when the boy made no response. Before he could reach her, Bubbles let out a wailing scream and dropped Dexter in order to clap her hands to her face. Luckily she was not very tall, so he did not have far to fall. Dexter landed in a heap at her feet and did not move.

"He's dead!" Bubbles cried, and threw herself into her sisters' arms. Blossom and Buttercup stared in horror and disbelief as they comforted their sister and each other. Their eyes were wide as they silently begged their father to make everything right.

Utonium looked up from where he checked their friend's condition. "He's unconscious, girls. He's not dead."

Their relief was obvious and the Powerpuff Girls let out a collective sigh. Utonium carefully untangled Dexter, checking him for injuries as he did so. He seemed a little worse for wear.

"I flew as fast as I could!" sniffed Bubbles. She dropped to her knees beside him, biting her lip and fighting her tears.

"I think that's the problem, sweetheart," Utonium said gently. "He's not built for that kind of speed. He's just blacked out. Buttercup, elevate his feet – a little!" he hastened to add when she all but lifted Dexter by the ankles. "Just sit down and hold his feet on your lap."

He was already recovering as blood returned to his head. Dexter stirred and let out a groan and a cough. Opening his eyes, he sighed to see the color-coded blurs surrounding him before he rolled to his side and coughed long and hard at the traces of smoke in his lungs.

"Easy, now," soothed Utonium. "Don't crowd him, girls. Dexter, drink this."

The Professor helped the redhead to sit up (a little unsteadily) and handed him a bottle of water. Desperately, Dexter seized upon it. He choked a bit as he downed it too quickly, but he was too dehydrated to stop. He coughed some more and dumped the last mouthful of water over his head to cool off a little. Squinting at his friends, he rasped,

"That . . . was not fun."

"Are you hurt?" pressed Blossom. "That was some pretty heavy stuff pinning you."

For a few moments he considered himself and his present state. Everything hurt, but he didn't think he was actually _injured._ Nothing he couldn't deal with, anyway, or worse than having one of his laboratory experiments explode on him. In answer he shook his head, saying, "I don't think so." The Utonium family sighed in relief.

Blossom gazed at the cargo ships still billowing dark smoke into the air, then at her sisters. Bubbles and Buttercup looked at her, then at their father and their weary friend. Slowly they nodded and stood. They were tired, but that didn't matter. All of them - the crews fighting the fires, the Professor, Dexter, the police, the support teams, the media - were tired. They would go back into battle because they could do no less. They were heroes.

"We'll be at the first aid station," the Professor told them, knowing what they had to do and willing to let them go.

"We'll be back soon," promised Blossom.

****

OoOoOoOoOoOoO

A paramedic at the first aid tent checked Dexter. He was declared tired, filthy, lucky, suffering from minor smoke inhalation, slightly dehydrated, and fit to go home so long as his father promised to keep a sharp eye on him, get some more fluids into him, check him occasionally through the night, and call an ambulance if his condition changed. The Professor blithely promised all and made no effort whatsoever to correct the man. Utonium was tempted to take him to a hospital for a checkup, but he suspected Dexter would refuse. When he dug his heels in Dexter could make any mule look cooperative, but the Professor vowed that if he saw the least cause for worry, Dexter was seeing a medical doctor if he liked it or not. Most likely Dexter would not actually feel much until after he woke up tomorrow, and after sleeping he'd be lucky if he was able to move at all.

They found a spot removed from the crush of emergency workers and sat down on some grass in a small garden park by the staging grounds. Utonium had taken half a dozen bottles of water from the first aid tent and he opened one for Dexter. The boy nodded his thanks and drank it down in a few gulps. The Professor stripped off Dexter's gloves and insisted he remove his lab coat in order to cool off some more. The clothes were completely ruined, and it was rather odd to see Dexter in all black. Remembering the glasses in his pocket, Utonium was rewarded with a faint smile and a relieved "Ah!" as the boy seized upon them. They spoke very little. Dexter was too worn out for conversation, though he sat close against Utonium as he slowly downed a third bottle of water.

Half an hour later, the Powerpuff Girls returned. Dirty and tired but pleased to report all the fires were out, they gladly took some water as they caught their breath and looked to Dexter.

"What happened?" Buttercup asked bluntly.

Dexter hesitated, not yet certain how to react to the day's events. So much had happened, so many emotions laid bare, he had been hurt in so many ways. He knew that if he spoke right now, if he confessed to the loss of his gift and all the petty abuses from the Gangreen Gang, he would break down and cry. This was not the time or place for tears, and he did not want his best friends to see him fall apart like that. And so he just shook his head, looking down, an odd sense of shame descending upon him.

Buttercup, meanwhile, was staring hard at him. Wetting her hand, she abruptly swiped at Dexter's cheek, washing away some of the soot on his face. He flinched. There was a faint red mark beneath the dirt, and her eyes narrowed sharply.

"He hit you, didn't he? Ace, I mean."

Dexter took a deep breath and quietly said, "I've had worse in school, Buttercup."

"But -"

She stared at him, slowly realizing what his answer implied. It had not occurred to Buttercup until now that Dexter would have been bullied at every turn in school, to the point where he took it as a matter of course. She was astonished because she – who had on more than one occasion been a bully herself until she learned better – thought the world of Dexter and valued him for the very traits that made him a target. A smoldering fury descended upon her at the thought of her friend – _her brother _– being pushed around by anyone. She might not be able to do anything for him in school, but Townsville was her turf.

Utonium watched in growing apprehension as understanding dawned on the most belligerent member of his family. He glanced at his other daughters and was dismayed (but not surprised) to see similar reactions in them. Clenching her fists, Buttercup came to a decision and turned to her sisters.

"I dunno about you two," she growled, emitting a faint green glow as her temper mounted, "but I've had _enough _of this! It ends tonight! No one does this to my friend."

Arms folded, attitude set, Blossom nodded sharply. "Agreed."

"Yeah!" Bubbles affirmed fiercely. She rarely got mad, but when she did it was explosive. "Dexter never bothered anyone!"

"What's your plan?"

Buttercup smirked, smacking her fist into her palm. "I'm gonna do what I do best!"

"Kick butt. Okay, Professor, Dexter, we'll meet you at home. Be careful getting there!"

"Girls, you're exhausted," argued Utonium.

"No," Buttercup said firmly, speaking for her sisters, "we're warmed up."

"What are you going to do?" wondered Dexter.

Promised Blossom, "We're going to put an end to anyone coming after you like this. Come on, girls. The Gangreen Gang is first on the list."

"Be careful!" shouted Utonium as they streaked into the night. He dropped his hand and shook his head with a sigh before looking to his companion. Dexter was gazing into the city-bright night, watching the colorful energy trails the girls left fade away.

"I've never had anyone go to war for me before," he said softly. Feeling a little guilty, he looked at Utonium and admitted, "It's a good feeling."


	11. A Hard Day's Night

**Invisible Sun**

**Chapter Eleven: A Hard Day's Night**

He walked through the house slowly, quietly, pausing at each window to look toward the city a few miles away. Somewhere amidst those tall buildings and low lives, his daughters were waging a battle against the crime and evil that had dared to reach out and touch their friend.

They were tearing the city's underworld apart. That much he knew from the reports on the police scanner in his study and the evening news. The Gangreen Gang was their target and they were stopping at nothing to reach them. The criminal element of Townsville was in an uproar, to the point where they were helping in the search for the five gang members in order to get the Powerpuff Girls off their backs. Nowhere was safe for the five teens and they had no allies this night.

He passed by the living room, instinctively glancing at the bench couch where Dexter lay. There was a faint, medicinal smell in the air - Utonium had removed a dozen or more nasty splinters from the boy's leg. Though he still hadn't said much about what had happened, Dexter's clothing had told quite a tale on their own. The clothes were completely ruined, from boots to gloves. It was fortunate Dexter dressed so heavily, especially the boots, because the outfit had gone far toward protecting him if the gashes and splinters and filth were any indication of what had befallen him.

Utonium had to admit, though, that he was far more worried about Dexter's reaction to the kidnapping than to any physical injuries. Cuts and bruises would heal, but the kind of hurt the Gangreen Gang were capable of inflicting could easily leave scars. The other incidents that had befallen Dexter had been petty annoyances in comparison. When Princess Morbucks has tried to make off with him, the girls had always been close by to protect him. When the Smiths had attacked they had, at least, taken Utonium, too. Today, though . . . he had been completely on his own. It was not lost on Utonium that the copy of _Principia Mathematica _was missing and unmentioned. Had he been able, he knew Dexter would have left the book behind the same as his glasses. The Gangreen Gang must have taken it and, if he knew them, found a spectacular way to ruin it for their victim. He wished Dexter would tell him what had happened. He didn't think it was a matter of trust - it was evident long ago that they had established trust between them. It was more likely Dexter harbored a misplaced sense of shame or failure in the situation.

A sigh escaped him, but it was more for his friend than for himself. Dexter, he knew, would feel the loss of the gift keenly. He might even feel responsible, which was not right or fair. Dexter had trouble enough just being himself, and now he had trouble just for having friends.

Up the stairs, down the hall he wandered until he came to his study. He searched among the book shelves covering the walls, knowing full well he had two more copies of Newton's book somewhere in here. The search took his mind off his troubles for a few moments until the scanner sparked to life and a tinny voice reported that his girls had just broken up an illegal gambling parlor. Utonium shook his head and smirked a little bit, swiping at some dust. Oh, he would hear about this from the Mayor and the chief of police tomorrow. What his daughters would cost the city in overtime tonight he did not want to know, but by the time the girls were done with their private little war, he hoped that the City of Townsville would finally be safe for Dexter.

He needed that safety. The Professor had recognized a host of insecurities in his young friend from the start. It was part and parcel of being a genius and prodigy. Utonium had tried his best to provide a haven for Dexter here in his own home and he had been rewarded with a bright, happy, thriving child.

Children, actually. His daughters thoroughly enjoyed Dexter and, not surprisingly, were very attached to him. It was as good for them to have a brother as it was for Dexter to have an affectionate, demonstrative family. Utonium could not help but wonder – and worry - about what he returned to when he got on that bus and went home. He had not forgotten the night they had met and Dexter so casually dismissed the notion of his parents being very concerned about his whereabouts. They had never called, never seemed to ask after their son's friend. Dexter mentioned his parents only very rarely and even then it was usually in passing. He had an endless litany of complaints against DeeDee, but it was clear that he loved his sister as dearly as she loved him. The Professor suspected Dexter had a very good reason for tolerating DeeDee's antics and teasing, but what it was never came up and he would not press.

There. On the bottom shelf he located the extra copies of the _Principia_ and pulled both out for inspection. One was a text book and rather dull, the other was a hardcover edition that his mother had given him in high school. He paged through it, smiling when he found a few notations he had scribbled in the margins and passages he had underlined. This would do, even if it came with a pedigree less spectacular than the last copy.

He left the book on his desk to transcribe in the morning and resumed his wanderings through the house. He had a nagging fear that there might be some form of backlash from the criminal underworld against his daughters or Dexter for this rampage, but having seen the relief and gratitude in Dexter's eyes as the girls grew furious on his account, he knew the battle was worth any outcome.

As he passed the living room again he paused and did a double-take. No Dexter on the couch. Quietly he stole into the room, but Dexter had not gone far. Scrunched into a corner by the picture window, the boy genius sat with his knees drawn up tight and his head bent down, the very picture of misery.

Well, the Professor had expected a reaction. It looked as if he was getting one. Painful though it might be he knew Dexter desperately needed to address what had happened and deal with the torrent of emotions that he was surely experiencing right now. Anyone would have been overwhelmed by the day's events. Utonium was beginning to think he was the only one that remembered Dexter was a child and possessed no more emotional development than any other eleven-year-old boy. Not even Dexter himself seemed to take that into consideration most of the time.

"Dexter?"

He raised his head. His glasses were clutched in his hand and in the harsh glow of the street light Utonium could tell he was quietly crying. As the Professor looked into the boy's blue eyes, he saw fear and a pain that had nothing to do with discomfort and everything to do with heartbreak.

"What is it?" he asked, dropping to one knee to face him.

Dexter swallowed, dropping his gaze and his chin, and hesitantly replied, "I- I'm sorry, Professor. Ace . . . Ace destroyed the _Principia_. He tore it to shreds."

"I know." The Professor laid his hand on Dexter's shoulder. "It's all right. It's just a book," soothed Utonium.

He sniffed, slowly uncoiling his body. "But it was your book."

"No, it was yours."

"But it came from you," he whispered. He struggled against the sobs shaking his form. He bit his lip, ducking his head again. "I'm sorry."

"Don't be. It's not your fault it was destroyed and you're allowed to be upset over it. I know you're disappointed, but I'm so glad you're all right." He lifted Dexter's chin, wondering if the boy could understand how wonderful and glorious it was to have him here, alive and whole even if he was grieving. He wiped the tears from the pale cheek. "Has anyone ever told you that you don't need to be right and prefect all the time?"

That he had to think about it was answer enough. Dexter shook his head.

"Well, you don't. Not in this house. It's all right to be and act your age, Dexter. You're eleven. It's all right to cry if you want. You're hurting. There's nothing wrong with giving in to that if it makes you feel better."

The boy considered these words with care. After a long while he nodded, quietly explaining,

"I've never been given something I valued beyond the gift itself. Not until yesterday. No one has ever given me something . . . something that they treasured." He swiped at his eyes, rubbing away the tears. "It was just a book, but . . . to me . . . it meant . . . more." He coughed and drew a shuddering breath. "I'm sorry. I wanted to stop him. I wish he had hit me instead of – of -"

**OoOoOoOoOoOoO**

"Oh, Dexter," breathed Utonium. He leaned forward and pulled Dexter to his feet, sweeping him into his arms. Dexter stiffened in surprise to find himself being hugged, especially by a grown man. Rarely had anyone outside of DeeDee ever held him, and for a moment he was caught completely off his guard by this show of affection. He could not imagine his own father ever doing something like this, but it was comforting to know that someone stronger than he stood between him and rest of the world, if only for a few moments. Uncertain of what to do, Dexter leaned into the touch a bit, resting his aching head against the Professor's broad shoulder. Hesitantly, he reached up and gripped the front of Utonium's lab coat, clutching the fabric tightly with both hands.

"You're more important than a book. You're more important than anything. I was so frightened yesterday when I realized you were missing." Utonium held him tighter as if to assure himself that Dexter was really there and safe, and with a shock Dexter realized an adult could need comfort as badly as a child. His own parents took few risks and rarely put themselves in positions where such need arose. Even so, would his father ever see his only son as a source of emotional support? Dexter could not envision the scene, but with Utonium it seemed perfectly right and natural.

"I know you're upset, but I'm glad it was the book and not you that Ace tore apart. I've got another copy of it for you if you want. Anything you want. Just so long as you're safe."

"I was frightened, too," Dexter admitted softly.

Utonium drew back slightly to look at him and brush the unruly red hair from his eyes. "Did they hurt you?"

He shrugged. "Not really."

"I'm sorry," whispered the Professor, his expression full of pain. "I'm so sorry. If anything happened to you I don't know what I'd do. I'm not even sure if it's safe for you to come back here again."

A terrible chill swept through Dexter at these words, and his heart skipped a beat. As he stared at Utonium it suddenly seemed as if he could not draw a breath, could not form words, and felt as if he'd been punched in the stomach. His hands were numb and he could no longer hold on. For the third time that day, he felt himself grow weak.

"Dexter? Dexter?" Utonium all but panicked at the visible change in him. He seized Dexter by the arms to keep him from falling.

"You don't want me?"

**OoOoOoOoOoOoO**

His words were almost slurred and Dexter wavered where he stood. He was absolutely stricken and terrified as he looked to the Professor in desperation. In a rush Utonium realized what he had said and done and how Dexter had interpreted his words. Of all the people in Townsville, he was the only one in a position to genuinely _hurt_ this boy. He was treading dangerously close to that line right now and he hastened to reassure him. Steadying him with gentle hands, Utonium looked him directly in the eyes as he said,

"We want you very much, Dexter. Don't ever think otherwise. Bubbles asks me almost every week if we can keep you and if I could, I would. Nothing would make me happier. You," and he emphasized the word with a little squeeze, "are part of this family and we all love you dearly." He pulled the boy in close again, felt him hold the front of his coat again in his equivalent of a hug, felt him relax as relief flooded through him. "From now on we'll meet you at the bus station and drop you off, all right? If I can't be there I'll have the girls get you. I'll make them promise not to fly so fast, either. Just let us know when you'll be arriving."

Dexter sniffed and nodded, resting heavily against the Professor.

"Don't ever think that we don't want you," Utonium repeated, gently rubbing his back. He knew Dexter would be asleep in minutes. He required rest desperately even though he'd wake up miserable and sore. "Come on. Back to bed. I'll be right here if you need me."

**OoOoOoOoOoOoO**

He awoke to soft voices in the kitchen. Dexter lifted his head and immediately regretted it. He couldn't move. Every muscle in his body, from his head to his toes, felt as if it had been pulled as yesterday's tension made itself known. His right leg was afire with points of pain and even the weight of the blanket on his ankle was too much to bear. Throwing aside the covers and putting on his glasses, he pulled up his pyjama pants to look at his leg. He was spotted with iodine and band aids, but his ankle . . . Dexter grimaced at the sight. It was a bad sprain, very swollen and heavily bruised from having a load of building materials dumped on him. Experimentally he wiggled his toes and moved his foot. Painful, but he didn't think it was broken. He sighed. He had sprained joints before and he knew he was not in for a good time of it.

Taking a pair of socks from his pack, he made his way down the hall to the bathroom. A quick search of the cabinets yielded a bandage and he wrapped his ankle as tightly as he could. He did not want the Professor to tell him to stay home and get better. It could take weeks before he was fully healed. Summer was too short and his time here with the Utoniums was too precious to miss for a sore ankle. The Professor knew his leg was hurting. He would simply pass off any difficulty walking as pain from the splinters.

As Dexter bound his ankle he thought on Utonium's words from last night. The news that he was wanted and loved by this family was like balm on a wound. He had known they valued him, but to hear as much said aloud was so very comforting. The Professor's easy expression and ready affection had surprised him, though it should not have. He could not imagine being hugged by his own father. He could not imagine wanting or tolerating such a gesture in any circumstance. But with Professor Utonium there was no disgrace associated with emotions or with being smart rather than physically active.

He sighed as he pulled his socks on to cover the bandage. Yes, he envied the Powerpuff Girls their home life. Then again, he had DeeDee. For all her faults, foibles, odd habits, strange hobbies, love of all things pink, squealing friends, destructive tendencies, and (he shuddered) her nauseating flirtation with Mandark, DeeDee was a very good sister to him and she made up for a lot of shortcomings in their family.

The girls were sitting around the kitchen in their night gowns and slippers, eating a late breakfast. Boxes and boxes of cereal had been emptied and combined and devoured, making a glorious mess. They had amazing appetites, but then they burned more energy than most children their ages.

"Good morning."

"Dexter!"

Three voices from three girls rose up to greet him as he slowly moved into the kitchen. They crowded close, each having to be sure for herself that he was well and all of them talking at once.

"Quiet!" yelled Blossom, silencing them all. "One at a time. Me first." Before anyone could protest, she asked, "How do you feel?"

"Sore," he said. He rubbed the back of his neck. "I feel as if I bumped my head."

"Naa," said Buttercup. "Bubbles dropped you."

Bubbles glared, but her furious blush gave the truth to her sister's words.

"The Professor left the aspirin out for you. He said you'd need some." As she spoke Blossom fetched the bottle from the counter and handed it to him.

"He was right," Dexter replied, opening it. The aspirin would help his swollen ankle tremendously. "Where is the Professor?"

"He went out," Bubbles said. "He asked us to baby sit. We're really sorry about your book."

He did his best to shrug off the loss, but it was difficult to be casual when the hurt was still so raw. Then he frowned.

"Baby sit?"

"Yup," Buttercup said happily, her grin wicked.

"He didn't actually use those words . . ." Blossom was trying not to smile. Clearly they had planned this, probably to keep his mind off the ruined book. "He did ask us to stick close, keep an eye on you and not let you get into trouble until he got back."

"Oh, and _then_ I can get into trouble?" He felt a glower coming on. "I'm twice your age!"

They laughed. Technically he was right, because they had been created at the age of five, but physically they were very close in years.

"Yeah," Buttercup agreed, unimpressed by his argument. "But we've got you outnumbered."

That he could not deny. A point to the ladies.

"We can't let you starve, so have some cereal," ordered Bubbles, fetching a bowl for him.

Dexter hunted through the boxes to find the least-sugary brand available. Thinking it was only polite to keep him company as he ate, the girls all joined him in an extra bowl.

"My turn," Buttercup abruptly said when they were halfway through the meal. Her tone was stern and she was looking at Dexter unflinchingly. He braced himself, waiting for the unavoidable onslaught.

"Did they hurt you?" she asked.

Dexter shook his head. "Not really," he told her, just as he had told her father. "I was more hurt by the debris that fell on me."

"But Ace hit you?"

"Yes," he said, seeing no reason to deny as much since she obviously knew the Gangreen Gang far better than he did.

"Why? Did he say?"

How to answer? Did she have any idea of what was being said about them?

"He was resentful of you girls having friends," he said diplomatically.

"Us or me?" demanded the dark-haired girl.

Bubbles came to the rescue. "The Professor also said not to pick on him, Buttercup!"

"How long is this list of instructions for the care and feeding of me?" demanded Dexter, latching onto the opportunity to move the topic to slightly safer ground.

"Endless!" Buttercup grumbled, dissatisfied.

"My turn," said Dexter. "What did you girls do last night?"

"Flew around," Blossom said casually, poring more cereal.

"Talked to people," volunteered Bubbles, reaching for another banana.

"Fought crime," Buttercup finished, downing the last of the milk in her bowl.

He stared at them, incredulous. They tried to ignore him, battling the urge to giggle. Dexter won this round because they couldn't keep straight faces.

"We tore the city to shreds, okay?" exploded Buttercup. "They're lucky we left a few buildings standing on the north end!"

"I don't think there are many people left in the city that are going to want to mess with you, Dexter," Blossom said.

"We kinda went after the Gangreen Gang," Bubbles explained. "And, well, we sorta went through a lot to get to them."

"She means through a lot of buildings," the leader of the Powerpuff Girls clarified. "By midnight almost the whole underworld was looking for the Gangreen Gang because they wanted to get rid of us. We had three different gangs hunting for them with us, and the mafia, too."

Dexter blinked, astounded. "So what happened?"

Buttercup slammed her spoon down. "Can you believe it? Those rats turned themselves in to the cops before we got to them! They were in a cell by two in the morning!"

"Luckily the sergeant on duty let us pay them a little visit," Blossom said. "Ace got too close to the bars and Buttercup made sure his face wasn't hard enough to break the cell door. Twice."

The green-dressed girl shrugged. "Hey, I had to test my theory. He might have tried it. Besides, that shirt he had on was really ugly and needed to die."

"I think they were relieved you weren't hurt," Bubbles added.

"Otherwise they know I would have gotten _really _mad," Buttercup growled.

"My turn," chimed Bubbles. A little hesitantly she asked, "You're not going to stop coming just because all these bad guys have been picking on you, are you, Dexter?"

"No," he said with all sincerity. "Of course not. It would take far more than this to keep me away, Bubbles."

"Good! It's been a fun summer, hasn't it?"

Dexter smiled, feeling every ache and pain, and quietly replied, "Yes, it has."

**OoOoOoOoOoOoO**

Professor Utonium had gone shopping.

He returned in triumph carrying a box and some bags. He just laughed to see the mess in the kitchen and saved Dexter from the girls when they refused to leave his side even when he wanted to use the bathroom. He asked Blossom to fetch the present on his desk and moments later Dexter found himself buried under the box, the bag, and a wrapped gift. He blinked up at Utonium in astonishment.

"What is this for, sir?"

Utonium pointed in ascending order, "Replacing what was ruined, replacing what we're going to burn after tonight's barbecue, and birthday."

"Will you just open them?" demanded Buttercup.

He started with the box and he pulled out a pair of boots identical to the ones his mother had bought for him. Dexter let out a little exclamation.

"Your others were a complete loss," Utonium said. "They're full of splinters. I didn't think you'd want to wear them again."

"No," he agreed. "Thank you."

The bag contained a lab coat. It was longer than the style Dexter normally wore and belted, with a high collar and a row of buttons going from shoulder to waist.

"They didn't have your size in something shorter."

"No," he said, smiling. "I _like_ it! You didn't have to do this, Professor!"

Utonium arched an eyebrow at him. "I wanted to. Now open your birthday present."

Dexter paused when he saw a second copy of the _Principia Mathematica_. His throat grew tight as he carefully opened the cover and read the dedications within.

_To Patrick Lawrence, _

_Congratulations on first place! _

_Much love, Mom_

And then:

_Dexter,_

_To honor your birthday, your bravery, and a remarkable summer, this gift is presented with great love from your family,_

_P.L. Utonium_

_Blossom_

_Bubbles_

_Buttercup_

He swallowed, closing the book and clasping it close to his chest. It was a long while before he could trust his voice enough to softly say,

"I will treasure this. Always."

The Utonium family smiled. "We know," Bubbles replied.

**OoOoOoOoOoOoO **

A block from his house he finally had to stop and rest his throbbing ankle, and so Dexter sat on the curb and nursed the aching joint for a few minutes. He drew up his trouser leg to have a look at the injury. Despite the bandage it was swollen and in need of ice, and when finally he set off again he was limping badly. The new boots were nicely tight and helped to support his ankle, at least. His mind was envisioning designs for refrigerated pressure casts and he promised himself a night in the lab to whip up some form of relief after he made himself a batch of aspirin. If nothing else the air conditioning in there would help.

"What happened to you?"

He looked up, sweaty from the heat and pain, and blinked at Mandark. He was almost at his own house and in no mood for the inevitable abuse his rival would dish out. Mandark, cool and comfortable in his silly shorts, was giving him a disgusted look, as if hurt and tired and hot were things no self-respecting scientist would ever consider being. Narrowing his eyes, Dexter glared up at him and said,

"I was visiting the Powerpuff Girls in Townsville and the Gangreen Gang decided to exploit my friendship with them by holding me hostage. During the course of the confrontation that followed, my ankle was injured. Hence, I am limping."

Mandark stared at him in disbelief, shaking his head at such an outrageous claim.

"That's a pretty lame excuse."

"That's a very bad pun," he fired right back, taking full advantage of the opening. The dark-haired boy glowered, realizing what he had said. His mood considerably lighter at getting the better of his fellow genius, Dexter limped past Mandark, calling, "Keep trying, Susan. Eventually you'll figure out what it is to be witty."


	12. Slip Up

**Invisible Sun**

**Chapter Twelve: Slip Up**

A/N: My thanks to Wyote for contributing to this chapter!

**OoOoOoOoOoOoO**

"Shaan."

"Neel! Good lord, where did you get this?"

"Oh, hi, Max. I'm fine, thanks. How are you?"

"This is amazing! This could be just the weapon we need."

"I take it my little present finally caught up with you."

"Little? I've never seen anything like it! This is - this is - I don't even know where to start!"

"Then let me. What you've got there is the result of five years of on-again, off-again research by a scientist that came to my attention two years ago. I had him flagged because I've been waiting for something like this out of him. I renewed contact when he applied for this patent last month."

"Where did he go to school? Why haven't we heard of him before? This guy needs to be working for us. I - what is so amusing?"

"It'll be a while before he's available to work for us, I think. As for his schooling, he'll be entering fifth grade in September, though I understand he'll be taking some AP classes in the local high school as well."

"Very funny, Neelandu."

"I think so, too."

"I'm serious."

"So am I, Max."

"You're telling me a ten-year-old kid came up with this?"

"He's eleven now, but he was five or six when he started to formulate the idea and ten when he finished his research, so yes, that's exactly what I'm telling you."

"You're serious."

"As a heart attack."

"It says here he has a working prototype."

"So he says, and I believe it."

"Have you seen it?"

"Not yet. It's not exactly the kind of thing we want a minor walking around city streets with, but I'm in contact with his lawyer and she may be able to persuade him to set up a demonstration once the patent goes through. That's a hint, Max."

"I gotcha. I don't know of anything to compare to this. Rogers in the Patent Office ought to be able to get this through in just a few months."

"That's what I was thinking. I had him give the secretaries for the patent lawyer a hand in the research so that the application could get through faster."

"Good man. I . . . ten? Who _is_ this kid?"

"He's . . . Dexter."

"What kind of boy conceives this kind of stuff?"

"That, Mr. Tennyson, is a loaded question."

"This technology could change the world."

"Or save it."

"I'd like to meet him."

"I'll see what I can do. How far are you from Townsville?"

"I can be there by the weekend."

"I'll be in touch."

**OoOoOoOoOoOoO**

Since he was not very mobile due to his ankle, Dexter spent his mornings on the piano. Though it was slightly out of tune from the humidity of high summer, he passed many profitable hours at the keyboard, practicing the music he had been given for his birthday. He started with _Rhapsody in Blue _for DeeDee's sake, and she sat beside him waiting for his nod to turn the page and resisting the urge to get up and dance as he plowed through the piece. He had to compensate for the smallness of his hands at times, but at the end of the week he had the music memorized to the point where his sister could improvise a dance routine instead of attending him. He almost balked one morning when LeeLee and MeeMee showed up to see what DeeDee had been bragging about, but his sister begged and he relented and his mother watched with a pleased smile on her face as the girls danced around the living room. Dexter was just grateful that he could keep his back to them, but if he looked he could see them reflected in the framed picture hanging above the piano.

He tried to find a subtle way to broach the subject of Utonium's call so that he could thank her. Why he bothered he really was not sure – subtlety was normally lost on his sister. DeeDee was not easy to pin down as she prepared for her dance recital, but in the end she beat him to the punch. Toward the end of the week she cornered him in his laboratory just as he was gingerly easing the boot over his bandaged ankle.

"Hi, Dexter! Is your foot hurt?"

"My foot? No."

"Dexter . . . I'm not Mom."

"Fine. I sprained my ankle on Saturday."

"Does it hurt?"

"Like nothing else."

"Do Mom and Dad know?"

"Dad does. He saw me limping in when I got home and asked what was wrong. I told him it was sprained and . . ." He shrugged.

DeeDee made a face. "Let me guess. He didn't ask how you did it, but just told you about the time he blew out his knee."

"Again," he said, completely unsurprised that his father had not asked about the injury.

"He did that when I pulled my Achilles tendon. How did you do it?"

"Oh, a beam fell on it."

Her eyes grew wide. "What were you doing under a falling beam?"

"Running away."

That earned him an odd look. He knew DeeDee suspected there was more to his frequent visits to the Utoniums than he was letting on, but she knew he was happier than he had ever been. She did not want to spoil that for him and so she did not press him for details.

"Hey, did Professor Utonium get you that lab coat?"

Dexter glanced down. He had practically been living in this particular coat since he had gotten it. "Yes. The one I wore there on Friday got ruined."

"I like it." She reached over and adjusted the collar, standing it up and arranging it just so. "There. _That's_ how you should wear it."

He glanced at his reflection in the darkened computer monitor. The raised collar did give a bit more of dash to his appearance and he smiled faintly.

"DeeDee . . ."

"Hmm?"

He tried to pull away as she started fussing with his hair as well, but she was already behind his chair and he was pinned against his work station. She hummed as she teased and arranged his bright red mop with her fingers. So long as she did not try anything with bows or barrettes, it was safer to just let her play. Besides, she would go away faster if he offered less resistance. He rocked as she swept his hair far forward and made a pest of herself and basically acted like a girl.

"Thank you. For everything you said to Professor Utonium when he called, I mean."

"He was worried about you. He asked me not to say anything about him calling but since you know I guess it doesn't matter. Don't worry. I didn't tell anyone he called. I think he knew that math book you were talking about, too."

"He did. He gave me a copy." He grimaced as she licked her fingers and smoothed the hair by his ears.

"Oh, so you did have a good birthday! I'm so glad! Did the girls give you anything?"

"Piano music. Did you have to tell him?"

She grinned, fighting the cowlick on the back of his head and trying to get a few errant strands of hair to cooperate. It was hopeless, so she licked her fingers again and twisted the hairs together, standing them up since that was what they wanted to do most. "He asked what I got you, so I told him. Will you play their music for me, too?"

"I will if you promise to get your hands out of my hair."

With a laugh she rolled his chair over to the monitor to see what she had wrought. "All done! Check out my new and improved brother Dexter, the scientific fashion plate!"

He blinked, barely recognizing himself. His hair was all brushed forward, not to the side, and looked slightly more organized than was usual for him. DeeDee leaned over his shoulder, pleased with herself.

"There's hope for you yet! Next up, new glasses!"

**OoOoOoOoOoOoO**

". . . and then, then - can you believe it? Then Sedusa actually starts in giving me dating tips!"

Standing on the end of the loaded shopping cart as Buttercup pushed, Dexter stared at her in slack-jaw horror, absolutely uncertain of what to say or do. They had stopped in Malph's grocery on the way home from the bus station and while the others bustled about, Buttercup had been regaling him with their latest adventure against a local villainess named Sedusa. It seemed that Sedusa had seen fit to spill the beans and let it be known to the crime-fighting trio that the whole of Townsville thought that Buttercup had fallen for a Soviet nerd.

"Can you believe it?"

In the aisle behind Buttercup, Blossom caught the gist of their conversation and Dexter's blank expression. Rightly guessing he did not know how to respond, she raced to the rescue, widely gesturing in the negative.

Nervously, well aware of what Townsville was thinking and frightened of what Buttercup might think as well, Dexter took the hint and squeaked, "Dating tips? Why?"

"She thought we were going out! You and me!"

Blossom put her hands by her face and pretended to scream.

_"What?"_ Dexter exclaimed, infusing as much outrage into his accent as he could manage.

"Exactly! I was like – _what?_ And Sedusa was like – bat your eyes and talk all pretty and act like he's the smartest guy ever and he'll be all over you." Buttercup was warming up as her indignation was rekindled. Behind her, Blossom gaped, but this once Dexter did not need a cue.

"And I was like – _what?_ _Dexter's not that shallow!_ And then she said Princess Morbucks told everyone in juvie that _I_ stole _her_ boyfriend!"

Wide-eyed, Blossom blinked. Dexter imitated her. Buttercup stared at him across the expanse of the cart, completely unaware he was being coached by an expert in all things Powerpuff.

"She was talking about _you_!"

With a dramatic flare, Blossom put her hands to her breast and mouthed, _Me?_

"Me?" he obediently squawked.

She screwed her face up in disgust, gesturing at imaginary, frizzy hair.

_"And Princess Morbucks?"_ He didn't have to pretend this time. He shuddered at the notion, memories of a squeaky voice and grating attitude even worse than Mandark's still painfully fresh in his mind.

"I was like – Princess? _Gross!"_ Buttercup looked on the verge of spitting. "So this whole summer everyone in Townsville has been thinking that you're my boyfriend!"

Blossom folded her arms across her chest and huffed. Dexter reveled in indignation.

"That is ridiculous!"

"Isn't it?"

"Morbucks is an idiot! She couldn't even calculate a fuel consumption ratio for a jet pack, for Einstein's sake!"

"Exactly!" Buttercup seemed to think that was settled, because she returned to the story. "So Sedusa is telling me how to make sure no one steals you from me, as if I'd let anyone do that if we were going out, which we're not so it doesn't matter, and all the while she was just trying to distract me so that Femme Fatale could steal the jewelry from the store. But then Femme Fatale heard what she was saying about attracting men and she hates men, so she started yelling at Sedusa about how bad men were and that they were all ugly and rude and stupid and then I got mad and said you weren't rude and you were cute and smarter than anyone and then they had this huge brawl right there in front of us and we just watched them pound each other until the cops came."

Not even Blossom quite knew how to respond to this, so fast and furious did Buttercup relate and reveal details both public and personal. Fortunately she did not notice that Dexter dared not move or even shut his gaping mouth. Bubbles returned with some cartons of strawberries for dessert, Blossom joined them, and to Dexter's relief the moment passed and things went back to their normal chaos of food shopping with the Utonium clan.

"All set?" asked the Professor, eyeing the contents of the cart with amusement. He was used to the appetites under his roof, so such vast quantities of food were nothing unusual. The addition of Dexter into the mix barely made a difference. Utonium could not get the boy to eat enough for his personal satisfaction, though he made it a point to fix his favorite foods often. Even for an eleven-year-old with a small frame, Dexter struck Utonium as far too short, thin, and pale for a growing boy.

"Did we get heavy cream?" wondered Utonium.

Looks were exchanged among the children.

"I guess not," he said as they all shook their heads in the negative. "Dexter, would you mind grabbing a pint?"

"Certainly, sir," he replied, forcing a smile. He really did not want to walk so far, but to refuse would be rude and certainly raise some red flags with the Professor.

"Okay. We'll meet you up front!"

He was trying his very best to minimize his walking. Despite his best efforts, his ankle was still swollen and sore and tended to give out on him at random. It was very frustrating, but he did his best to keep the Utoniums from noticing. They would make a fuss and he knew they would be upset with him even though there was nothing more they could do for the sprain than he'd already done.

"Bodyguard!" called Buttercup, following behind Dexter. The girls were serious in their resolution not to leave him alone for a moment, and the only peace he got anymore was when he was in the bathroom.

"You okay?" asked Buttercup, noticing his pace was slower than usual.

"My leg hurts."

"Still? It's been a week."

He smiled. "We don't all heal as quickly as you engineering masterpieces, Miss Utonium."

An easy, amused laugh escaped her and he was glad that despite learning about the rumors circulating throughout Townsville, Buttercup was comfortable with his company. He would have despaired if anything happened to alter their friendship.

"Want me to carry you?" she invited, her eyes sparkling with mischief.

"No," was his firm reply, which only made her laugh again.

**OoOoOoOoOoOoO**

He watched in fascination as he quietly and discreetly followed them around the store, pretending to shop but in reality fixated on the redheaded boy. _That_ was the creator of the null-void laser? That skinny little thing? Who had dressed him?

Outside of knowing what he looked like from an old photograph, Max Tennyson had deliberately avoided learning any details about Dexter, just so he could be astonished. It turned out to be a good plan, and astonished was an understatement. He'd almost fallen over when he heard that Russian accent, and Dexter spoke like a grown adult even when he was acting like a child. His hair was longer and swept forward and his lab coat was a different style, but otherwise there was little to indicate much change between the boy hanging on the shopping cart and the three-year-old picture in Max's wallet.

Max was at first amazed, then amused, then delighted as he watched the antics going on before him. He had to hide his face and pretend to be choosing a pineapple when Blossom acted out the proper responses for Dexter to display over Buttercup's story. The story itself – along with their reactions – told him a great deal about the relationships among the children, and he had to fight hard not to laugh aloud as Dexter imitated Blossom.

He looked with interest at Professor Utonium, the genius behind the Powerpuff Girls. From what Max knew about him, he was a model parent and his affection for his children was absolute. It seemed, too that he had expanded that sphere of love and caring to include Dexter. Max found himself smiling in approval as he watched the scientist. A good man, and a good father. Neelandu Shaan was right about him.

Trailing behind Dexter and Buttercup as they went to fetch the heavy cream, he noticed that Dexter was not walking naturally at the same moment as Buttercup. He wondered how Dexter had been injured and drew a little closer as they talked, but their conversation remained general and charming as they bantered and teased. A sudden desire to interact directly with this boy seized Max. He wanted to see Dexter's eyes, to see into a person that was so innocently poised to change the world.

"Excuse me," he said as the children stood before the dizzying array of dairy products, "could you hand me a pint of cream? In the blue carton."

Dexter complied, turning to hand him the container. Max had a swift glimpse of sharp intelligence and a will to match. "Thank you, young man." He smiled warmly, liking what he saw, and asked, "Hey, isn't it a bit hot for gloves?"

That was the wrong thing to say. In an instant everything changed. Dexter paled, the carton slipping from his fingers. Wide-eyed and frightened, he recoiled from Max as if bitten. He bumped into Buttercup as the cream hit the floor and burst, splashing the thick liquid in all directions. A shout of surprise escaped her as Dexter whirled. His foot slipped on the cream and he staggered, grimacing. Instinctively Max tried to help and Dexter avoided his touch. For an instant he faced the Powerpuff Girl and she steadied him, alarmed by his sudden reaction.

"What's wrong?" demanded Buttercup.

"Get me back to your father," he directed. "Please."

She cast Max one hard and suspicious look, clearly thinking he was behind this, and then she put her arm around Dexter's narrow waist and helped him limp away. Whatever injury was impeding him had just been aggravated, and Max could have kicked himself even though he had no idea of what he had said or done to frighten the boy so completely.

He gave them a few moments to reach the cash registers before heading that way. Scanning the front end of the store, he spotted Professor Utonium by the front windows. Dexter sat on the ledge of the wall with his trousers drawn up and his bare foot in Utonium's hands. From where he stood Max could see Dexter's ankle was heavily bruised and Utonium's expression was one of deepest concern. It was quite a spectacular sprain. Dexter was talking, probably explaining the injury, and Utonium cut him off with soft words.

Glancing up, Dexter spotted Max as he approached and he whispered to the Professor. Utonium glanced Max's way before he nodded in understanding. He released Dexter and straightened to face the older man. Dexter slid from his perch and stayed close beside his chosen protector, looking around the Professor and watching Max with eyes both nervous and contrite.

"Are you all right?" Max asked Dexter. "I want to apologize for alarming you before. I didn't mean to do that."

Utonium dropped his hand to Dexter's shoulder, making no effort to dislodge him from his hiding spot.

"What you said . . . startled me," Dexter admitted warily. He clearly was not going to elaborate for a complete stranger, and Max had to be content with that bare-boned explanation.

Max bestowed his most grandfatherly smile upon the younger men, certain that whatever had happened to rattle the boy must have been traumatic. "I'm sorry. I hope your ankle doesn't give you too much trouble."

With a nod of appreciation for Max's concern, Utonium said, "Thank you. We'll make sure it doesn't."

He returned the gesture, smiled a final time at Dexter, and said, "Well, it looks like you're in good hands. Take care."

**OoOoOoOoOoOoO**

"Comfy?"

"As I can be, thank you."

"Good. You'd better get to love it because you're not going anywhere that requires walking. I mean that! If you need to move, you're getting carried."

"Professor!"

"Dexter?"

"Honestly, it didn't hurt until Sunday."

"But it _hurt_ and you didn't say anything." Utonium sighed. The girls were barred from the living room for the moment to allow them to talk. Dexter was confined to the sofa with his foot elevated, wrapped, and swathed in cold packs and he was forbidden to stir an inch. "I'm not mad at you, Dexter, I'm just upset that you didn't tell me. Your ankle could be broken."

"It's not. I x-rayed it."

"You're not an MD, young man. Not yet. Besides, that's not the point. The point is you didn't speak up. Did you think I'd get angry?"

"No," he replied, though he wasn't absolutely certain.

"What did you think, then?"

Dexter looked down, and quietly admitted, "I . . . didn't want you to tell me not to come."

"I wouldn't do that," Utonium assured. "If I had known, I never would have taken you to the grocery, that's all."

"I'm sorry, Professor."

He reached out, placing his hand on the boy's narrow shoulder. "Don't be sorry. Just please, promise me you'll let me know when things like this happens. I can't help if I don't know what's going on."

There was such genuine affection and friendship in those words that for a moment, Dexter was overwhelmed. Reaching up, he covered Utonium's hand with his own.

"I promise."


	13. The Russo Japanese War Revisited

**Invisible Sun**

**ChapteThirteen: The Russo-Japanese War Revisited**

"Your laser cannon won't work."

"What? Did you speak? Did you speak to _me_? What did you say?"

"I said it won't work!"

"What? How can you say it won't work? I designed it! It is perfect! It is everything that a perfect laser should be because I designed it! Why do you say it won't work? I am Mojo Jojo, and I say it will work! Therefore, it will."

Tied hand and foot to a very hard and uncomfortable chair, Dexter sighed and fixed the raving chimp with his best steely gaze, the one he usually reserved for Mandark. "I'm a scientist, Jojo. I know these things!"

"You will not call me Jojo! My name is Mojo Jojo and that is how you will address me! No other form of my name is acceptable! I am not _Mojo_! I am not _Jojo_! I am _Mojo Jojo_ and you will address me thusly when you address me or you will not address me at all!"

"Whatever," snapped Dexter, shaking his head and looking for something to distract him. He was thirsty, his ankle was throbbing, and the rope securing his leg to the chair was cutting off the circulation despite his boots and the bandage wrapping the sprain. There was nothing to look at but the elaborate, overthought laser cannon the size of a house rising up in the center of Mojo's 'secret' hideout atop the volcano in the center of Townsville, and its crazed builder with his glass-domed brain prancing around at its base. The cannon was actually very similar in design to the laser gun Dexter had taken from Princess Morbucks, since it had also been made by Mojo Jojo. The gun was a fascinating piece of equipment and far too useful to his research to turn over as evidence. He was confident the police wouldn't want the gun now anyway - it was in several hundred pieces back in his laboratory.

With narrowed eyes and a cunning look, his captor threw his cape wide and marched over to harangue him directly. Dexter supposed there was some comfort in finally having to deal with an (almost) intellectual peer he could actually look down upon, seeing as how even that obnoxious Princess Morbucks was taller than he. He gazed at the chimp as Mojo ranted, his antics slightly more entertaining than the overgrown laser gun in the background. It took a lot of concentration on both their parts to understand one another - Dexter's heavy Russian accent and Mojo Jojo's choppy Japanese diction were not entirely compatable.

"Why does your tiny, little boy brain say that my perfect laser, which I will use to destroy the Powerpuff Girls once and for all and eliminate them from existence so that I may take over the world and rule as supreme dictator for all time, will not work when it will?"

"That made no sense whatsoever. But!" he exclaimed, making Mojo jump. "Have you read _Tech Journal International_?"

The evil chimpanzee folded his arms and raised his chin defensively at the insinuation that a simian of his intelligence and magnitude was not up to speed on all the latest technology. "Of course."

"Did you read last December's issue?"

"Cover to cover."

"Then you read the nine-page piece on using magnetization on ultracold plasma for the production of lasers." Instinctively he tried to gesture, but his arms were tied down from elbow to wrist and he could only wave his fingers.

"Brilliant article. I used some of the theories in the construction of my perfect laser cannon," grunted Mojo, not to be outdone. He gestured at his gleaming weapon as he rocked back on his heels, waiting for the chance to provide more snappy answers to this smart-mouthed little horror decorating his observatory. "Very insightful."

"Thank you. My point being that the magnetic chamber that I can see from here is too small to compensate for the inevitable build-up of nonideal Rydberg matter in the plasma. Since ultracold plasma can shift rapidly into a non-equilibrium state, any magnetic vector field you can possibly establish in a chamber of that volume will never be able to safely contain the plasma you use in order to generate a laser powerful enough to fire, let alone take out a Powerpuff Girl. In simple terms, it won't work!"

Mojo Jojo stared at him. Dexter's Russian accent and assured authority impressed him as much as they intimidated him. He pointed a stubby finger in his prisoner's face. "How can a little brain like yours know this?"

"I wrote the article, you stupid monkey! I'm Dexter!"

"You're just a boy!" Mojo turned his back, dismissing the claim offhand.

"And you are just a stupid monkey!"

He whirled. "I am not a stupid monkey! I am a chimpanzee! I am Mojo -"

"Jojo. Yes, yes, yes, I know who you are! You _keep_ telling me! And _I_ keep telling you your laser cannon won't work."

"It will work! It will work because I designed it and I am -"

"Oh! Wait! Let me guess! Mojo Jojo?"

"Yes! The greatest criminal mind in Townsville -"

"Such a claim to fame," was the bitingly sarcastic interjection.

With a hearty glare at his furious captive, Mojo finished, "And the world. And if you are so smart, how is it I captured you so easily?"

"How can you ask such a thing? You were right there! You kidnapped me! You got on the bus outisde Townsville and clapped a gun to my head! What was I supposed to do but get off when you told me to? Let you vaporize me? That was two hours ago – are you so stupid that you have forgotten already?"

"Do you know how many times I've had to ride that bus to finally catch you?"

"Do you actually think I care?"

"You are in league with Professor Utonium and the Powerpuff Girls!"

"They are my _friends_."

"Ha. What were you doing in Townsville? You do not live here. Explain your presence in this city of which I am the foremost criminal mind."

Dexter sighed and tried to rein in his impatience. "I was visiting my friends. Or trying to until you ruined it."

"I don't believe you."

He rolled his eyes. "I don't care. As soon as they realize I'm missing, the Powerpuff Girls will come looking for me, and once again you'll be beaten by three fifth graders!"

Mojo's nostril flared and his eyes grew wild. "They are not in fifth grade! Not until September! I have not been beaten by any fifth grader!"

"Not yet."

"I am Mojo Jojo and I am smarter than a fifth grader."

"I'm in fifth grade."

"Ha! Not yet! School hasn't started."

"Well explain why they've been beating you since kindergarten."

"Hmph," snorted the villain, trying for a macho tack. "Because I have been too nice! No more! The days of nice are over! Gone! As with the wind! As of now, my evil is complete! Utter! Absolute! Besides, I'd rather be beaten by three fifth-grade girls than rescued by them like little wimpy _you_."

He shrugged as best he could while bound to a chair, unconvinced. "Suit yourself."

"I will! And myself says that you are an ally of my enemies and therefore my enemy."

"Your logic astounds. How do you know I didn't allow you to capture me in order to steal your laser cannon design and then give the Powerpuff Girls the perfect excuse to destroy your work and send you to jail again?"

"Ah-ha! You _are_ in cahoots with them!" He stomped off, his high-heeled boots tapping a staccato tattoo across the metal floor, crowing all the way. "I knew it! I knew it! I was right! I, Mojo Jojo, am right once again, as always and now!"

"You are an idiot. I am not in a cahoot with anyone," Dexter called after him. "It was a hypothetical question! But this is not: why am I here?"

Mojo Jojo stopped in mid-stride. Fed up with being welcomed to Townsville with assaults and kidnappings, Dexter carried on with his scolding, scathing tirade comprising equal parts of vitriol and vinegar.

"If you wanted to use me as bait you would have called the Powerpuff Girls to gloat as soon as we got here! I've been tied to this chair for over an hour! If you're holding me for ransom you're going to be stuck with me because my family has no money and I have even less! If you're holding me because of what I know then I suggest you get used to dealing with someone who is much smarter, more articulate, more imaginative, far more talented than you could ever hope to be, not afraid to tell you that on a regular basis, and who does not tolerate idiots very well, starting with _you_! And if you brought me here to fix your stupid laser cannon, forget it! I won't waste my time on shoddy equipment that _won't work _because you can't follow a basic scientific principle that _I _detailed for you in that article you say was so insightful!"

In a swirl of cape and with a mighty growl, Mojo whirled, furious that his prisoner should berate him so when by all rights little boy brain should be trembling in fear of his might and majesty and pure evil intent. He marched right up to his chair-bound captive, poised to explode, when –

Dexter, numbed to the Powerpuff Girls' rogue gallery after a summer of overexposure and constant peril, was completely undaunted by this fierce show and returned his long, hard look with a steady glare.

"I'm waiting, Jojo."

Mojo stared. Dexter stared right back, waiting. And waiting . . . and waiting . . . and . . . waiting . . .

"You have no excuse why you took me hostage," Dexter accused.

Mojo shrugged, realizing the truth. "All the other evil villains in town have kidnapped you; I decided it was my turn. Thank you for cooperating so fully."

Dexter groaned in impotent annoyance and frustration.

"But!" the chimp shouted, failing to return the favor of making Dexter jump, seeing as how the boy was tied to a chair. "Using you as bait to lure the Powerpuff Girls into range of my perfect laser is an excellent suggestion and one I shall employ immediately. What did you say your name was?"

"Dexter!"

"Thank you. I'll be right back. Please make yourself comfortable." He indulged in a protracted evil laugh, throwing his head back and roaring toward the heavens, his teeth flashing in the slice of sunlight pouring in through the opening for the laser cannon.

"I'm sick of listening to you. Will you shut up and call them?" demanded Dexter, wishing friendship didn't come at so annoying a cost. Or perhaps this was typical and all friendships were as complex as a bimonthly prisoner exchange. He had nothing to which he could compare his relationship with the Utoniums. Still, it was better than staying home and he had to admit that he had profited by his experiences and exposure to the villains of Townsville. They forced him to plan ahead, for starters, and to be ready for anything . . . anything at all.

Unfortunately, with the way the ropes covered his wrists, he could not reach the blade concealed in his glove. Since he had dismantled the laser he had decided to bring something, anything to use as a tool. This was yet another lesson - carry multiple weapons. With nothing to do but think and stare at a defective plasma cannon, Dexter's mind began working on a contingency plan. In his thoughts he had already designed numerous weapons that he could easily carry, and if he could miniaturize the core of a null-void laser . . .

"It was busy," Mojo said, returning to the main room of the observatory and his helpless and rather short-tempered prisoner.

"Now what?"

"We wait for those chattering pests to get off the phone. Chess?"

"Fine! E4."

"Stop! Cease! Desist! I want to be white! White is the color that goes first and since I am the evil genius and I have the upper hand, I will choose! The color I choose – is white!"

"I'm your guest. I will go first. E4."

"Brat. E5."

"Simian. F4."

"King's Gambit. Very boring. E captures F4."

"King's Gambit Accepted. Very predictable. King's bishop F4."

On and on they went, hurling insults and chess moves until Mojo Jojo, who kept trying to contact the Powerpuff Girls, eventually realized (after three straight losses) that this was taking too long.

"They must not be very good friends if they leave you in my clutches for so long without bothering to look for you!" mocked the chimp.

"Did you call the right number?"

"Of course I did! I have them on speed dial! It is automatic! Fast! Convenient! I press a button, the phone dials itself."

"And have you updated this miracle of science since the telephone company redid the local exchanges three weeks ago?"

Mojo stared at him, and his silence was answer enough. Dexter rolled his eyes. If he could have, he would have banged his head against something hard.

"The exchange is now 583, not 672," said Dexter through gritted teeth.

"I knew that. Wait here."

He sighed as the chimpanzee darted off. After all this, the Professor had better hold a barbeque tonight. He was starving.

"They're on their way!" called Mojo happily, as if having ultra-super heroes speeding here at mach one for the soul purpose of thwarting his ridiculous plan was something to be celebrated. It was for Dexter, but he could not quite fathom the chimp's glee as he swarmed up the laser cannon to the control panel. "Now I can put my sinister plan into motion and destroy the Powerpuff Girls once and for all! They will meet their demise at the hands of Mojo Jojo, the greatest and most diabolical mastermind in the world! I will just power up my laser -"

"Don't bother! It won't work."

"It will! My laser is perfect! I, Mojo Jojo, know exactly what I'm doing!"

"Trust me, so do I! It's a sad day for science, Mojo. The only thing you'll accomplish with that laser cannon is to make yourself look like an even bigger idiot!"

"Be silent, little boy brain! I must concentrate so that my aim is exact and I can rid the world of these annoying Powerpuff Girls once and for all. They will be gone. Eleminated. Va-por-ized! I will swat them like flies! Like itty bitty fruit flies come swarming around the peach and the blueberries and the . . . the . . . Name a green fruit," he commanded, glancing down at Dexter from on high.

"Avocado."

"That's a vegetable."

"No, it's a fruit."

"Hmm. No. That will not do. I like avocados."

Dexter huffed. "Lime!"

"Yes! Yes! Sour, like Buttercup!"

_"What did you just call me, Mojo?"_

Victim and villain alike twisted around to see the trio of young girls zoom into the observatory, with a near-rabid Buttercup in the lead. To Dexter's relief they all looked furious, and their fury compounded when they glanced between Dexter and their target. What followed was loud, violent, and, for the chimp, disappointing. Mojo swung the cannon about to focus on Bubbles, and the blonde let out a little shudder and shriek, shielding herself with her arms. Her sisters let out screams of alarm, but from where he was still tied to his rock-hard chair, Dexter shouted,

"It won't work, Bubbles!"

"Oh," she exclaimed, smiling. "Okay!" She flew back into the fray with renewed confidence, joining her sisters as they tried to catch and restrain the rampaging Mojo and avoid the cross-hairs of his targeting system. Bubbles' trust rendered him speechless for a moment, and Dexter sat in slack-jawed astonishment as the fight raged around him.

"Brat!" thundered Mojo Jojo. He dodged Buttercup as she zoomed past, then seized Blossom by her long hair and threw her directly into her sisters. The Powerpuff Girls were reduced to a midair tangle of limbs and boiling tempers. Mojo laughed manically. "It will work! I will prove it to you this very instant! You, Dexter, will help me prove it will work by dying beneath its awesome power!"

Dexter blinked to find himself gazing down the barrel of the laser cannon as Mojo took point-blank aim at him. If it actually worked not only would Dexter be vaporized, but so would the floor and half the observatory, not to mention a large part of the volcano's caldera, which most likely would trigger an eruption. Startled, the boy genius stared into the long, brightly polished tube and his first, last, and only reaction was,

"Why would you rifle the barrel of a laser?"

"The better to shoot you with!" laughed Mojo. "Ha, ha! Farewell, little boy brain!"

_"Dexter!"_ wailed the three young girls, horrified.

Dexter smirked as the evil chimp squeezed the trigger.

"I told you," he said several very unspectacular, very unvaporized seconds later.

Mojo stood at the controls of his gigantic laser cannon in shock as he realized his captive had been right. It did not work. He desperately adjusted the controls and settings and tried to fire again. He started as the laser shimmied, shuddered, and shook. Then a feeble bang emanated from the cannon and smoke poured out of the magnetic containment chamber.

"Uh-oh," was all Mojo managed to get out before he was tackled and dragged down by three almost-fifth-graders. A few moments later Bubbles detached herself from restraining the chimp to free Dexter. He groaned as he finally managed to move his arms, and he flexed his fingers to restore circulation. He gingerly tested his ankle, hoping he could avoid falling over in a heap. It hurt terribly.

"We're so sorry!" whispered Bubbled, steadying him. "The Professor is still at the mechanic and we thought maybe you'd missed the bus and we didn't know what to do and we've been so worried and we're sorry that this keeps happening to you!"

He glanced over to where Buttercup and the hog-tied Mojo Jojo were literally growling at each other. Blossom was not far behind Buttercup, managing to retain some of her pose and dignity, and Bubbles was almost distraught. Dexter sighed, and he looked to his friend.

"Mojo's really the only bad guy that would bother you after what we did to the Gangreen Gang. Please don't be mad with us," she begged.

As if he ever could. With a tired smile he sighed, "I would like to go home, Bubbles."

She let out a little whining noise of distress. "Home? You want to go back east?"

He frowned, realizing what he had said. "No. _Home_. To your house. That's home now."

Her smile was like sunshine and she seized his hand tightly. "Come on!" She turned to her sisters. "Blossom! Buttercup! You take care of Mojo! I'm taking Dexter _home_!"


	14. Ancient History

**Invisible Sun**

**Chapter Fourteen: Ancient History**

"Tell me again what you were thinking when you came up with this?"

He looked up, his blue eyes bright with amusement. "Dodge ball."

"Dodge ball," echoed Utonium, shaking his head in awe as he took in the exo suit. He slowly circled around the armor to admire it from all sides. "Do you know what dodge ball may have done for the field of biomechatronic prosthetic devices?"

Encased in the suit, Dexter reached out, the mechanical suit recreating his every gesture, and carefully took the pen Utonium held up for him.

"I hadn't thought of that," he admitted. "I was more concerned with surviving gym. Since my old teacher was a former Marine drill instructor, my thoughts were more along the lines of a military application."

The Professor laughed. The exo suit was a monument to robotics and miniaturization and here Dexter had only used it a handful of times, and that to make it through third-grade phys ed. What else did this boy have lurking his laboratory? He took the suit's other hand in his and Dexter relaxed his arm, allowing Utonium to move it this way and that and manipulate the hand and wrist.

"This doesn't translate back to you?" he wondered, curling the metal fingers close.

"No."

"How did you figure out how to collapse and fold it in to fit in a backpack?"

"Origami," he replied, concentrating on twisting the pen through the fingers of the suit. "I got the idea for the transformation sequence from a cartoon."

Utonium blinked up at him. Origami? Cartoons? Finding nothing remarkable in his own comment, Dexter abruptly fumbled the pen and it dropped to the floor.

"Oops!"

"I'll get it," Utonium said. Dexter had already mentioned the armor's need for better stability and he did not want boy and suit to go crashing to the floor. "Ready for the beach?"

"As I'll ever be," was the unenthusiastic reply.

"You don't like swimming?"

"No," he replied with unusual finality. He powered down the suit, keeping still as it neatly and quickly folded itself up again. He did not meet Utonium's eye as he shed the heavy pack and set it back on the bench. Watching him carefully, the Professor knew better than to delve into his refusal, and so replied,

"Well then bring a book and sit this one out. The girls will swim enough for us both."

**OoOoOoOoOoOoO**

The lake was half an hour out of the city and remote enough that there were few people on the sandy beach. A long dock extended out into the water from the rock-strewn shore, and the Professor told Dexter that this had, in fact, once been a quarry, now filled by springs with a man-made beach. The girls paid the scientists no heed. As soon as they unloaded the picnic lunch and supplies from the car, they dashed out on the dock and dove into the icy water, shouting with delight at the cold and making enough noise for ten times their number.

The men of the house happily settled down in the shade to read the latest scientific journals, stuff that would have sent the average reader into a coma but to their minds was quite thrilling. They were so busy discussing an article on criticality and catastrophic power excursions in reactant chambers (Utonium not forgetting for a moment that Dexter had a nuclear reactor in his laboratory) that they completely missed the three girls sneaking up behind them. They shook their hair like dogs, showering them with water and producing shouts of alarm and surprise.

"Very funny." Utonium was the very voice of sarcasm as he saved his magazine. The girls laughed, pleased with themselves.

Dexter set to cleaning his glasses with a corner of his lab coat, grumbling aloud as Buttercup flicked more water at him the moment he was done. She grinned, knowing he really was not cross.

"You coming in?" she asked.

"No," he replied.

"But it's boiling hot!"

"Not in the shade," he corrected, returning his glasses to his face with a little smirk.

She had a fleeting thought that he must not be human. From boots to gloves, the only part of him not encased in two layers of clothing was his head, but somehow there was not a drop of sweat on him. How did he do it? She was in a wet bikini and she was melting.

"Don't tell me you don't like to swim, either!"

"If you insist."

That stumped her for a moment, and she pulled a wry face when Blossom giggled.

"Huh," Buttercup muttered, but relented when her father suggested they eat.

After the meal Dexter took to exploring the edge of the quarry, never having seen one before, and the girls returned to the water. While geology was not of primary interest to Dexter, he knew enough to recognize sandstone and he derived a great deal of pleasure examining the bands of colored rock up close. One lighter band of color in particular caught his attention, and he rooted through the rubble left by the miners decades earlier in order to find more.

"What are you looking for?"

He looked up to see Bubbles hovering before him, watching him with interest as she dripped dry. Dexter pointed to the taller rock behind them.

"Do you see that layer? The lighter one? I'm looking for samples of that."

"Oh. Can I help?"

"Of course." His ankle, though tightly bound, was still painful if he walked too far and tempting though it was, he did not dare to climb the broken wall of rock rising from the water.

"How's this, Dexter?" Bubbles asked a few minutes later, carrying a piece of sandstone the size of a small car. Smiling happily at his wide-eyed expression, she set it down beside him with obvious pride. There was a wide band of yellowish stone running through it.

"Just the thing, but a bit big. Can you break it up, perhaps?"

She was happy to oblige and had him stand back. Two or three punches later, he had a large pile of rubble. Bubbles looked up as her sisters called for a third in their game of tag.

"Are you sure you don't want to come in? It's very refreshing."

"I'm sure."

Nonetheless, half an hour later Dexter was walking along the dock to where the three girls sat in a line dangling their feet in the water. His hands were clasped before him and he was quite pleased with himself as he crouched down and opened his hands.

"This is what I was looking for, Bubbles."

She stared, picking up a bit of stone. "Sea shells?"

"Fossils!" exclaimed Blossom.

They crowded around to see, excited at the novelty of seashells appearing so far inland.

"We can date them when we get home," Dexter said, their response everything he had hoped it would be. "I've no idea how old they are."

"Let's show the Professor!" cried Bubbles, thrilled. He passed the handful of fossils to her and she flew off, squealing for her father to come see. Dexter stood, dusting off his gloves and adjusting his coat. He turned just in time to see the remaining sisters exchange a mischievous look and he knew their intention full well by their sly smiles: Blossom and Buttercup wanted to push him into the water. He leveled a hard, cold glare at them, well aware that they could overpower him without a thought.

_"Don't,"_ he hissed, meaning it. He backed away a few steps.

They halted in their tracks, astonished and disarmed by his intensity. After a moment he looked away, a flash of disappointment crossing his face. He whirled, heading back to the shore as quickly as his ankle would allow, leaving the two Powerpuff Girls to share a look of complete confusion and dismay.

"What's that about?" wondered Buttercup, gesturing helplessly.

"I don't know," Blossom said, "but I think we really hurt his feelings."

**OoOoOoOoOoOoO**

"Hey, Professor?"

"Yes, girls?"

Blossom and Buttercup stood beside his desk, hands clasped behind their backs and their eyes full of concern. He smiled, not in the least surprised to see them, and set his pen down.

Blossom opened her mouth to speak just as Buttercup blurted out,

"We messed up with Dexter today."

"Yes, I noticed things were a bit strained on the way home. What happened?"

Buttercup let Blossom field that question. Shamefaced, the leader of the Powerpuff Girls explained what had happened on the dock. Listening carefully, well aware that his daughters felt guilty and confused, the Professor let her talk without interruption.

"Anything to add?" he asked Buttercup.

She shook her head and muttered, "Only that I feel like a jerk."

"Let's look at the situation, girls. He said time and again he didn't want to go into the water. He certainly wasn't dressed for it. Don't you think it's possible he's got a very good reason for not wanting to go in?"

"Like what?" wondered Buttercup.

"Maybe he doesn't know how to swim," suggested Blossom. "Could he be afraid of water?"

"Maybe. And maybe it's none of our business why," said their father. "He let us know he didn't want to swim and you didn't respect that. Do you think he'd push you into a lake if you didn't want to get wet?"

"No," they chorused, though Buttercup could not imagine _not _wanting to get wet.

"He looked really hurt," murmured Blossom.

Utonium leaned on his knees to look her in the eye. "I think he was."

They gazed up at him, waiting for him to make it better.

"We were only playing," Buttercup muttered, uncomfortable with her father's long silence.

The Professor shook his head. "Buttercup, you know Dexter well enough by now to know that _your_ idea of playing is not necessarily _his_ idea of playing. He thinks ten steps ahead of everything that's going on around him. I know you girls were just trying to horse around, but look at this from his point of view. You were going to force him to do something he didn't want to do. And if you had thrown him in, then what?"

They frowned, not quite following him.

"You throw him in the water. Then what do you do?"

"We'd haul him out," said Buttercup.

"No," Blossom interjected sharply. She was thoroughly displeased with herself. "We would have laughed."

Utonium nodded and gave them a knowing look. "And you would have been laughing at him, girls, not with him. Is that any way to treat a friend?"

Buttercup groaned. "Why do I keep messing everything up?"

"You're not alone this time," Blossom replied. "Professor?"

"I think you both owe him an apology."

Blossom grimaced. Buttercup sighed. Neither argued.

**OoOoOoOoOoOoO**

"So you're really going to be in _high_ school when you go back?"

"Yes. I'll have AP calculus, physics, and chemistry classes, plus a chemistry lab once a week in the mornings. The rest of the time I'll be back in my elementary school."

"Aren't you nervous? I'd be."

"No. I've already read all the books. It's simple stuff, really."

Bubbles laughed at his casual dismissal of AP classes as being anything of a challenge. She picked up one of the fossilized seashells from a towel on the floor beside them and held it next to a picture in the book they were studying.

"Is this it?"

He frowned, comparing the shell to the one in the book. "Not quite. I think it must be older. For that to have been a sea bed it must predate the dinosaurs and you're still looking in the Cretaceous. Further back. We want ancient ancient history, not just ancient."

"Dexter?"

Both children looked up. A very contrite and miserable Blossom stood before them.

"I'm sorry," Blossom said. "Sorry for not treating you better. I shouldn't have thought about pushing you in the lake. It's not what friends do."

Bubbles, who knew something was wrong among her siblings but did not know any details, blinked in surprise. She looked back and forth between them, hoping for peace since she hated dissent.

Dexter sensed exactly how unhappy the leader of the Powerpuff Girls was at the moment. Rising to face her, he softly said,

"Blossom, I don't like swimming. I . . ." He hesitated, not certain how or if he should continue. He had no desire to go into detail about his experience with water and how his father had pushed and bullied him to go into the pool when he didn't know how to swim.

She lowered her head in shame. "I know. I'm sorry we didn't respect that fact. We deserved you getting so angry at us, but it's not fair that we made you so upset. It wasn't right." She pursed her lips nervously, meeting his eye nervously. "Friends?"

He smiled, incapable of staying mad at anyone he held in such esteem.

"Friends."

**OoOoOoOoOoOoO**

"Dexter? You awake? Hey!"

He awoke with a snort and a start, lifting his head from the pillow and twisting about to face whomever was poking at him.

"Burrcup?" he mumbled, squinting into the shadows.

"Yeah. It's me."

"Whuzziza?"

He could not see her smile, but her voice betrayed her amusement at his nonsensical mutterings as she said, "Wake up."

"Whut?" He groaned as he dragged himself upright. He fumbled to find his glasses on the end table and she leaned over and put them in his hand.

"Here."

"What is it?" he asked. "Is something wrong?"

"Yeah. I want to say I'm sorry about today."

He stared, blinking into the darkened room, barely able to make out her slim form beside the sofa. After a moment he slid the glasses onto his face.

"That couldn't wait until the morning?" he wondered, wanting nothing more than to flop back into his pillow.

"No. I didn't want to talk in front of everyone else. Blossom already chewed me out when we went to bed." She sat down next to him and he could finally see her clearly. She was wearing, he noticed, her usual green dress and knee socks, not her nightgown. "I didn't mean to hurt or scare you. You don't like swimming?"

He made a face, confessing, "Not even a little. My father thought it was fun to throw me into the pool. He seemed to forget he never taught me how to swim and would just leave me to get out on my own."

"Ouch," she muttered. "I was just playing around. Trying to have some fun with you. I mean you are pretty stuffy sometimes."

He looked down, stung. Buttercup groaned.

"See? There I go again. I say what I think and it always lands me in trouble." She sighed. "The Professor is right. Your fun is totally different from my fun."

"I can't help or change what I am," he said. "But then, neither can you. It's what we are. We don't know how to be anything less than everything we are."

"I'm an idiot," she muttered.

"You're impulsive," Dexter corrected. "That's not always a bad thing."

"So what are you?" she wondered, mollified by his assurance.

"Arrogant."

Buttercup laughed. "What?"

"I am. I have little patience for people that can't keep up with me. I use my vocabulary to chase people away at times, and I hold myself superior to my schoolmates."

"Yeah, well, you were great against Princess Morbucks!"

"She brought out the worst in me."

"See, I would have said the best." She looked at him closely, taking in the intelligent features and bright expression. "You're patient with us and none of us can keep up with you. Except the Professor."

"I may be wrong, but I like to think you and your sisters like me for who I am, not what I am."

That gave her food for thought. "Is that why you like us?"

"Yes."

"Even though I'm impulsive and you're arrogant? And Blossom is a know-it-all and Bubbles can cause cavities?"

He smiled. "Yes."

"Yeah," she agreed after a little consideration. "I think you got it right."

They were quiet for a few moments, enjoying the peace between them and the soothing of unintended wounds. Suddenly Buttercup stood.

"Get dressed."

"What?"

"Get your clothes on, Dexter. I said you should see the city at night. Come on! Let me show you! It's a perfect night."

"But . . ."

"Real fast. Just half an hour and you'll be back. I promise."

He was weakening.

"No one will know. We'll be real quiet. Come on – this is fun we can agree on, Dexter!"

"There might be an emergency."

She shrugged, brushing aside his worries. "Then I'll catch up with them. You want to," she whispered in a singsong tease. "Come on!"

He went.

**OoOoOoOoOoOoO**

The tension among the children was gone the next morning, having been banished forever by the night. The exact details were never divulged, but then, Utonium never really asked, preferring to let the children settle things on their own terms.

Dexter slept in a little, remaining oblivious through the Powerpuff Girls having a pillow fight and the clatter of bowls and pans from the kitchen, rising only when the Professor sent Bubbles to make certain he was still alive beneath the blankets and to come get some breakfast. Utonium was busy making strawberry pancakes when a redheaded zombie in pyjamas shuffled past him, giving him a moment's pause. The girls tried their best not to giggle as Dexter snapped and muttered and stared into middle space as he sat down at the kitchen table. With a wary look Utonium poured a mug of coffee, lightened it with milk and a touch of sugar, and set it before Dexter experimentally. The boy stared at it a moment, sniffed it, and drank the brew down without a flinch. All three girls watched in wide-eyed awe and even the Professor was impressed.

"Tough night," Utonium observed under his breath, and Buttercup snickered. He hastily served the pancakes to prevent more snapping, putting the condiments within easy reach. He feared for his fingers and for Dexter's early morning aim since he was not wearing his glasses, but the only things that got impaled were the pancakes and a few sausages.

The girls consumed breakfast with their usual gusto and left the table looking as if a flock of vultures had been through with barely a scrap of food remaining to be seen. Slow and methodical, Dexter worked his way through his pancakes, aiming for the slices of fruit as he gradually returned to life and consciousness. Time and again he yawned and blinked and stretched, and Utonium watched him with a smile. Catching his friend's expression, Dexter smiled back ruefully, realizing the display he had been putting on.

"Didn't sleep well?" wondered the Professor, pouring them both some more orange juice.

He finally found his voice. "No, I slept well . . . just not enough." Another yawn split his face and he ended in a laugh. Leaning on his hand, he regarded the Professor, a fleeting wish for this day, this summer to last forever passing through his mind. Last night he had seen Townsville from the air, had flown with Buttercup among the towering buildings and glowing lights. They had laughed and shouted and raced the wind. It had been wonderful. Magical. Thrilling . . . just like this entire summer. He felt a pang of sorrow knowing there were just two weeks left before he started school again.

He yawned again, helpless to stop. "Buttercup and I were up talking for a long time."

Dexter was not surprised when the scientist was pleased and not in the least annoyed that they had been up half the night. Utonium's priorities were such that the preservation of friendship and the settling of misunderstandings were more important than sleep. He knew his own parents would not have agreed so readily. Briefly he wondered if perhaps Utonium knew more than he was letting on, but there was no denying his satisfaction with them making up was genuine.

"That's good," Utonium said, giving him a very fond and very wise look.

He paused, reflecting, and then he smiled. "Yes, it is."


	15. The Boys of Summer

**Invisible Sun**

**Chapter Fifteen: The Boys of Summer**

". . . and that was the last time I used myself as a test subject. I learned my lesson."

"At least you came out of it liking vegetables."

"There is that. It's not entirely a bad thing, I suppose."

"Once I spent almost a whole day in Buttercup's body. I'll admit it was very challenging being so short. I never really did find out how she fared being me."

Dexter twitched. "I once spent a day as DeeDee. She's much taller than me. I- ugh!" He pulled a variety of faces, shaking his head as if it would help him escape his memories. "Being a girl - Oh! It was disturbing!"

"Apparently it still is," the Professor said mildly.

"She was in _my_ body," Dexter raved dramatically, "and she still used the _girls'_ bathroom!"

"This is going to take years of therapy. I can tell from here."

"And then Mandark tried to flirt with me on the bus ride home from school! Argh! Revolting!"

"The stuff of nightmares." He could not resist a bit more ribbing. "So what did you do when you needed to use the bathroom?"

Dexter shuddered. "I kept my eyes closed. Very tightly closed. Could you pass me the Phillip's head screwdriver?"

"Ah. Good move. Here you go."

"Too bad DeeDee doesn't suffer from a similar . . ."

"Prudishness?" he suggested, crouching down.

"I was going to say sense of decorum." From where he lay on his back beneath their latest project, Dexter looked up at the Professor and challenged, "Why? What did you do as Buttercup?"

"I didn't drink anything the whole day. I didn't dare."

"Good move," he muttered, plainly wishing he had thought of the same thing.

"I almost expired for want of coffee." Utonium chuckled, passing him a wrench. "Tighten that lower bolt, will you? Mojo Jojo once turned us into dogs."

"Yes, it was a worldwide dilemma. I woke up a Pomeranian. Luckily it didn't last long, but being a dog was better than being DeeDee."

"I was a lab."

"Very fitting. DeeDee was the stupidest golden retriever you ever saw. She chased her tail the whole time."

He chuckled, closing the control panel where he had been tinkering. "Ready?"

"Almost." Dexter gathered up his scattered tools.

"Once upon a time I accidentally turned the girls into infants."

"Oh? I once made myself as old as my grandfather."

"That must have been educational."

"In more ways than one. My parents didn't even notice. Forget DeeDee. They all thought I was Grandpa and never wondered were their son was."

He was _not_ going to touch that comment, though Utonium did file it away in the mental dossier he was amassing about Dexter's parents. Instead he said, "You probably used the same process that I did, only in reverse. What a disaster. Three little girls I could handle. Three infants . . . no. I was completely unprepared for that. I dismantled that piece of equipment the moment I got them back to kindergarten age."

"Mine is gathering dust, though I removed the control panel. I learned the hard way to do that with everything I didn't want DeeDee messing around with. So far as I know she still hasn't found the Megabot 3000 prototype."

"How can you tell?"

"The house is still standing. There. Ready."

"Valves are open?"

"We're a go."

"Everything clear . . . we're in the green."

Dexter joined the Professor at the controls, snatching up his goggles and swapping them for his glasses. The Professor lowered his goggles as well. They exchanged a determined nod.

"You first," invited Utonium, gesturing at the red button sitting in dramatic isolation in the corner of the panel.

With a wicked chuckle, Dexter pressed the button.

"Lift off."

Machinery rumbled. A spark ignited, combining with oxygen and fuel to produce combustion. Flames leaped into the air and both scientists let out howls of excitement and celebration as they achieved success.

**OoOoOoOoOoOoO**

"Look at them! You'd think they were watching football, not fixing the stupid grill."

Buttercup shook her head in disgust, watching the menfolk celebrate the creation of fire with high-fives and happy shouts.

"Guess they really want to eat dinner tonight." Blossom joined her at the window. "I don't think Dexter actually knows how to _fix_ anything. I think he just super charges everything he gets his hands on."

"He told me he rebuilt his mother's blender," said Bubbles, abandoning her coloring to join them. "Now it can puree a brick."

"Yeah, because everybody wants to drink brick milkshakes. Only Dexter. Now what are they -? Man, even when they're geeks, they're still such _guys_!" Buttercup slapped a hand to her forehead as the Professor, not entirely satisfied with the height of the flames, was seeing exactly how high he could get them to go despite the rainy weather. Dexter offered advice and observations, egging him on enthusiastically. They were a matched pair of pyromaniacal mad scientists in lab coats and goggles.

"Just think, girls," said Blossom, folding her arms as she shook her head, amused by their manly antics, "they're all ours."

"Lucky us."

"I wish we could keep Dexter," Bubbles said softly.

"Yeah, that would be fun," agreed Blossom.

"Just because he doesn't live here all the time doesn't mean he's not _ours_," Buttercup insisted. "I just wish August wasn't almost over. I don't want to go back to school. This has been the best summer ever."

"Yeah." Both her sisters sighed in unison, watching fondly as the men of the house screamed and dove for cover as a sudden gust of wind sent the flames their way. The landed side-by-side in the muddy yard, scorched and soaked and inordinately pleased with themselves.

"Geeks," said Blossom with a smile.

"Idiots," Buttercup countered, shaking her head.

Bubbles glowed with pleasure. "Ours."

**OoOoOoOoOoOoO**

"Professor?"

"Yes?"

"Mojo Jojo rifled the barrel of the laser cannon he built."

"Why?"

"I was hoping you'd know why."

"You're more of an expert on lasers than I am, Mr. Null-Void. You tell me."

"I can't."

"Have you analyzed it fully?"

"Apparently not."

"Well, then. You've got something to think about at school."

"I'll need it. I don't feel like going back. I learned much more this summer working with you than I could ever gain from elementary school."

"We're a phone call or a bus ride away, Dexter. Will you come visit over your winter break?"

"If you'll have me."

"Always. Just plan on spending all of next summer here. Think of the trouble we could get into in the lab . . . and out of it."

"I would like that."

"So would I."

They fell silent for a span, waiting and comfortable with one another's company that there was no need to fill the silence with pointless chatter.

"Professor?"

"Yes?"

"I want to thank you. It's not just what I've learned this summer. You've _given_ me a great deal. More than you know. More than I can say."

"The feeling is mutual. You may not see it, Dexter, but you've made a tremendous difference in our lives. A very welcome difference. My girls adore having a brother. You'll never escape them now."

"I wouldn't want to."

"Good, because they're great at tracking people down. And . . . Darn. Here's your bus. I was hoping they'd forget to come."

"So was I."

"Call and let me know you got home safely."

"I will. Say good-bye to the girls for me, please."

"I will. They're going to make Him very, very sorry they missed seeing you off. They'll probably call tonight and tell you all about it."

"Good."

"Dexter?"

"Yes?"

He did not bother to speak. Instead Utonium pulled Dexter in close for a hug. Dexter gripped the front of Utonium's coat with both hands, holding tight and ducking his head against the man's chest for a moment. Cherished. Wanted. Loved. He was all these things to this man and his daughters. Dexter never wanted to let go . . . never wanted Utonium to let him go.

"I miss you already. Now go on or the bus will leave without you."

"Oh, yes, and that would be tragic."

"Go! Smart alec!"

As the bus pulled out of the station Dexter watched the white-dressed figure on the platform until they turned a corner and Utonium vanished from sight. He remembered his nervousness upon first coming to Townsville to meet the Professor, back when the summer seemed as if it would endless, but time had passed in the blink of an eye for him. He rested back in his seat, smiling to himself as he thought of all the fun he'd had in the Professor's laboratory and teasing and being teased by the girls. Never had he had such a time in his life. School would be so dull by comparison. Life would be so dull by comparison.

He leaned on his gloved hand to look out the window, reflecting as he watched the City of Townsville fade into suburbs. A sense of loneliness settled upon him, a bittersweet feeling caught midway between sorrow and joy at the pleasure of the days past and the uncertainty of what was to come with the start of school. He hoped DeeDee would be there when he got back to the house. He was seized by a sudden desire for his sister's company no matter how much she annoyed him. Maybe she would like him to play the piano for her . . .

Abruptly it occurred to Dexter that this is what it must feel like to leave home. Up to now, he realized, he'd never really had a place he called home to leave.


	16. Flash of Genius

**Invisible Sun**

**Chapter Sixteen: Flash of Genius**

"Mandark."

"Dexter."

"Hypothetical question: what would happen if you rifled the barrel of a laser cannon?"

"Nothing. You know that. Lasers are light and will only travel in a straight line. It would be a pointless effort."

"Twist the laser."

"Still nothing. Even if you get the laser to spiral, it will proceed in a straight line on its trajectory the moment it leaves the barrel of the cannon."

"Mirror the barrel."

"Concentrate the laser. Is there a point to this?"

Seated at the rear of the van taking them to the high school – as far away from Mandark as the vehicle would allow, in other words – Dexter stared into middle space, turning their exchange over in his mind.

"I don't know," he finally admitted.

Mandark turned in his seat to look back at Dexter. Since returning to school this year, there had been a distant, withdrawn, almost distracted quality to the redhead that Mandark neither liked nor understood. Dexter had not returned to education with his usual blithering enthusiasm. It was as if he had something altogether different from classes and their rivalry on his mind and barely tolerated school as an inconvenient interruption in his day. It gave him a detached and aloof air that Mandark envied.

"Not even you would come up with such a hare-brained idea, Dexter," he said with undisguised disgust. "Where did this exercise in futility come from?"

With a shake of his head Dexter pulled himself out of his reverie and cast Mandark a knowing little smirk. "Some chimp I met."

"Undoubtedly. Stop wasting my time."

But as he turned around again, Mandark couldn't help but wonder what prompted the question. They often used one another as sounding boards in this manner. There had been occasions when one was able to help the other without having either party actually admitting to needing help or acknowledging that assistance had been rendered. Much as they disliked one another and were constantly at odds, each (very grudgingly) recognized the other's genius and there was a healthy respect between them.

But rifling a laser cannon? Ridiculous.

**OoOoOoOoOoOoO**

The fact that he was pondering the question so deeply told Dexter that there was something to this. Something vital. Something he was missing. Mojo Jojo was no fool when it came to science. The elegant little laser gun Dexter had taken from Princess Morbucks proved as much. Sitting in his lab that evening, Dexter studied the gun in question. It was a welcome distraction from the rest of his life at the moment. He had carefully rebuilt it after dismantling the whole thing, and he was impressed by the compact fuel cells. Gauging by their strength, he was fortunate that Princess had not fired it – odds were good she would have vaporized the both of them if she used it at point-blank range.

He removed the fuel cells (in case DeeDee snuck in and startled him, he did not want to shoot himself) and fetched a penlight to examine the barrel. He knew what he would find.

Mirror-bright metal and clockwise rifling.

Why? What did it do? What could be the point?

With a sigh he set the laser aside. It was late and he needed to sleep. The question would hold until tomorrow.

**OoOoOoOoOoOoO**

"Dorkster! Hey, Dorkster."

He ignored Mandark's sister as he approached the bus stop at the end of the street. Two years younger than her brother, what Olga (or Lalavava, depending on which generation of Astronomonovs you asked) lacked for intelligence she made up for in obnoxiousness. Lately she had taken to trying to annoy him, but Olga was an amateur when it came to teasing, having come later to the game of picking on Dexter. She was also a coward, daring to abuse Dexter only when DeeDee was not to be seen. DeeDee was an Amazon in comparison to Olga, and would not tolerate bullies.

"Shut up, Lala," snapped Mandark, embarrassed. He knew her juvenile efforts would have no effect on his rival and only served to make her look like an idiot. "Stop advertising your lack of imagination."

Dexter just favored her with a look of contempt as DeeDee came rushing up. She cast Mandark a quick, shy smile before standing close to her brother. She leaned over and whispered in his ear,

"Is it a fine day for science, Dexter?"

He grinned. "Always."

A good day for science, however, did not equate to a good day for Dexter. He reported to his home room and immediately wound his way back to the front entrance of the school to catch the shuttle that would take him and Mandark to the high school, running the gauntlet as he went. A few subtle shoves and pokes landed as he passed the sixth graders crowding the halls. They were jealous of the fact that he got to leave and attend high school even if they had no notion of what he did once he got there. He could not imagine any of them surviving a day of calculus, AP or otherwise, and physics would most likely bury them all.

Olga and her cohort of third graders called out some mocking taunts, but as always he ignored them. He wondered what the Powerpuff Girls would say or do if they ever heard such remarks. Most likely Olga would find herself dumped in the nearest body of water. The notion brought a wicked little smile to his face, and he was smirking as he joined Mandark.

"What's so amusing?" demanded his fellow genius.

"Your sister."

Mandark glowered but said nothing, knowing no defense was possible in Lalavava's case.

He spent his day going through the motions, all the while his mind was lingering on the question of a rifled gun barrel. He knew the ballistics behind projectiles, the impact of rifling, how the increased heat from repeated firing affected the speed and spin on a bullet. But a laser . . . why? Why would Mojo Jojo_ rifle_ the gun barrels?

And then he realized something shockingly obvious, so obvious that he had missed it all this while.

The rifling was raised, not recessed.

They were sitting in AP chemistry – a ludicrously easy class in Dexter's estimate – listening to a lecture, when it hit him like a bolt out of the blue.

_Raised, not recessed._

Could that mean . . . ?

He flipped to a blank page in his notebook and began to write, his pen flying across the page as his thoughts spilled out at a dizzying rate. He filled the first page in a matter of minutes, then another, then another. A few of the high school students glanced his way, wondering what he was up to since he clearly was not paying attention to the lecture. When Dexter scrambled for a straight-edge from his backpack, even the teacher, Mr. Bose, looked over in curiosity.

"Dexter?"

He didn't respond. He was too absorbed in sketching out Mojo Jojo's cannon design from memory to hear.

"Dexter?"

Bose looked over his shoulder at the highly technical sketch and the hasty calculations scribbled on the page, then at Dexter. The boy could not have been more completely absorbed or oblivious. The teacher glanced at the clock; saw there was only five minutes left in class, and to the surprise of all he just let Dexter be. Mr. Bose was one of the few teachers who was not intimidated by the two fifth-grade geniuses he taught, and he was not afraid to admit that he was outclassed. There was no getting through to Dexter now, so he didn't even try.

When the bell rang Dexter did not hear it. He was too wrapped up in his blitzkrieg of inspiration to pay attention to anything as mundane as the passage of time. Mr. Bose looked to Mandark and the dark-haired boy grudgingly hauled Dexter along, making sure he got in the van back to their elementary school and making absolutely sure that he conveyed his annoyance.

"What _are_ you going on about?" demanded Mandark, not really curious.

"It was raised, not recessed," was Dexter's mono-tone reply. He went on writing without pause.

_"What?"_

"The rifling. It was raised."

Back to the laser cannon question? Didn't this lame-brain ever give it up? "And that changes what, exactly?"

Dexter finally came out of his calculating frenzy long enough to look at his peer.

"Everything," he said, and plunged right back into his notes.

By social studies he had his first detention. South American exports and economics could not compare to laser cannons even at the best of times. Dexter sat in his corner and sketched and calculated until the teacher, fed up with being completely ignored, slapped her hand down on his notebook.

"Pay attention!" she snapped.

He glared up at her. "I am, just not to you."

"Detention. Two-thirty. Be there."

"Whatever," he muttered and got back to what mattered.

It was the same in English. The teacher actually tried to take his notebook away. Incensed at such a display of ignorance out of someone who was supposed to promote learning, Dexter immediately asked to be sent to the principal's office to demand the return of his personal property, stolen by his very own English teacher. He then proceeded to correct errors in two of the sentences she had diagramed for them on the overhead by way of proving he knew the material better than she did. Incensed in turn, the teacher dropped the notebook onto his desk and added another half-hour detention on to the one he had already.

"You're giving genius a bad name," muttered Mandark. He was not paying any more attention to the teacher than Dexter; he was simply hiding it better.

"What have _you_ done for it lately?" Dexter replied hotly.

"At least try to survive history without another detention," he said with sneering superiority.

"Oh, Mandark," he cooed, sarcasm incarnate. "I didn't know you cared."

He snorted. "As if."

Once upon a time he would have been thrown into a fit of anxiety at the notion of staying after school. Now he relished the thought of a DeeDee-free hour to finish his train of thought about the laser. It took him all of eight minutes to complete the social studies assignment he had been given, nine to diagram the dozen sentences meant to simultaneously punish and challenge him. That left him forty-three minutes of quiet contemplation and a chance to review what he had written and he did not waste a moment of the detention or the bus ride home. It was just past four in the afternoon when he rushed into the house. Yelling out a greeting to his mother, Dexter took the stairs two at a time, stripping off his pack as he went.

"DeeDee!" he called. "DeeDee! I need to borrow your mirror!"

"DeeDee's at LeeLee's, Dexter!" his mother answered from the kitchen.

"I'm borrowing her hand mirror, Mom!"

"Don't break it, honey!"

"Yeah," he said vaguely, wondering if he should ask what she meant by _break. _

He braved the nightmarish terrain of pink and lace and crinoline that was DeeDee's room and laid hold of the garish hand mirror on her bureau. He escaped before the smell of perfume could permeate his lab coat beyond recovery and he reached his laboratory at a run.

"Computress, lights! Open the locker with the laser I took from Princess Morbucks."

"You're late today," said the computer conversationally.

"I had detention." As he spoke he set up the laser gun on a stand. Despite the fact that he had been studying and tinkering with the weapon for weeks, he had yet to fire it. Up until now it had not been a priority. He knew it was powerful, but like any laser it was limited by the laws of physics, some of which Mandark had pointed out just that morning. The beam would travel in a straight line, deflect off surfaces where it was not absorbed, and, since it was traveling freely and not in an optic cable, disperse the further it traveled.

"Computress, correct my angle for the laser to reflect off the mirror and hit the rock wall by the decontamination unit."

"Turn it two degrees to your left and down one degree," instructed the computer, her mild voice echoing through the huge laboratory. "Down another point. There. What are you planning?"

"I realized today that not only is the barrel mirrored, but the rifling is raised, not recessed. If I'm correct, I don't think the laser will be reflected even off a mirrored surface. I need to know."

"Isn't that DeeDee's mirror?"

"Wasn't it the claw attachment from my prototype submersible excavation unit she used as a trowel to plant marigolds this past May?"

As he spoke he clamped the hand mirror in place at the far end of his work station, double checking to be sure nothing stood in the way of the laser's projectory.

"DeeDee just got home," warned Computress.

"Let's hurry before she-"

"Dexter!"

"Blast. What, DeeDee?" he called as the door from his bedroom opened and his sister rushed to the rescue of her mirror.

"Don't you dare experiment on my mirror!"

"What? I can't hear you. Talk louder! Computress, fire the laser."

What happened next floored him utterly. Theoretically the laser should have hit the mirror and been deflected harmlessly aside to hit the stone. He expected a stench of brimstone and ozone and maybe a few chunks of rock to be dislodged if he was wrong, a hole burned in the mirror if he was right. Instead the small gun spat out a white-hot flash of energy that polarized Dexter's vision and left him with a multi-colored afterimage. When finally he opened his eyes and squinted at the mirror, it took him a long moment to realize it was gone. Vaporized. So was the stand. And part of the steel partition behind it. And he could see straight through his old Cray-2 to the burned and blasted rock wall behind the computer.

"Computress?" he asked cautiously. "What just happened?"

"It failed to reflect."

"Yee-ah," he agreed in a squeak. "A lower setting next time, please."

He inched forward to study the destruction, stunned at having been so right. The jagged hole in the sheet metal carried through to the ruined computer beyond. It should have reflected off the mirror. From everything he knew about lasers and their properties and the science ruling them, the beam _should_ have bounced off DeeDee's mirror. The only thing that did not add up was the barrel of the gun.

"Oooooh, Dexter!" cried DeeDee, torn between excitement and alarm by what she had just witnessed. She hurried down to join him, her blue eyes wide and the fate of her mirror temporarily forgotten. "Dexter, what was that?"

"That . . . was very interesting."

**OoOoOoOoOoOoO**

From: Neelandu. Shaan ***** USArmy. gov

To: GrandpaMaxTen ***** hotmail. com

Subject: FWD: RE: Null-void Mark II

_Max-_

_Dexter's patent lawyer forwarded this to me. She received it last week. I think our boy may have found the means to put our terrestrial weapons on a par with the stuff we import._

_Neel_

From: Dexterslaboratory ***** DexLabs. com

To: Amarsh ***** LandisWalsh. com

Subject: Null-void Mark II

_Ms Marsh,_

_Out of curiosity, will upgrades to future versions of the null-void laser need to be patented individually, or would I have to patent the improved weapon seperately from the prototype? I've made some improvements to the original null-void design (not theory), turning it from a laser weapon to a controlled free-energy blaster weapon, the beam of which will not reflect even off a mirrored surface._

_Dexter_

**OoOoOoOoOoOoO**

From: GrandpaMaxTen ***** hotmail. com

To: Neelandu. Shaan ***** USArmy. gov

Subject: RE: FWD: RE: Null-void Mark II

_Neel-_

_If Dexter wasn't so cute I'd say he was frightening. Scratch that. He's frightening in a cute way. Or maybe cute in a frightening way. I'm not sure, but he's definitely something._

_If this kid has figured out on his own a way to create alien technology using terrestrial resources, we need to get him producing these weapons ASAP._

_Max_

**OoOoOoOoOoOoO**

From: Neelandu. Shaan ***** USArmy. gov

To: GrandpaMaxTen ***** hotmail. com

Subject: RE: FWD: RE: Null-void Mark II

_Max –_

_Believe me, Max, no one knows better than me how close our backs are to the wall. Don't forget he's eleven even if he doesn't know how to act it very well. Short of having him declared a threat to national security – which, granted, he may very well be, though I think he'll turn out to be more of a difficult blessing in the end – I can't exactly force a private citizen and grade schooler to come slave away for the government or any of their non-existent special ops teams. Utonium would definitely notice if his protégé went off the map and not even the Army wants the PPG on our sixes._

_Neel_

**OoOoOoOoOoOoO**

From: GrandpaMaxTen ***** hotmail. com

To: Neelandu. Shaan** *** USArmy. gov

Subject: RE: FWD: RE: Null-void Mark II

_Neel –_

_Then get that boy some funding!_

_Max_

**OoOoOoOoOoOoO**

". . . so you adapted it for the null-void? That's fantastic!"

"The raised rifling actually shapes the beam and focuses it so that the laser won't reflect. It's too concentrated."

"Remarkable. How is it working?"

"Better than expected, to be honest. Mojo Jojo's weapon puts out a lot of heat along with the laser, but the null-void runs cool by comparison."

"Meaning?"

"Meaning it overheats after eighteen minutes of continual use as opposed to seven."

Utonium chuckled. Dexter sighed.

"That's not bad for a controlled free-energy laser," the older man said with undisguised pride.

"I'm still working on it, but you're right. I think that cannon would have been good for six, maybe seven shots if it worked at all. I did get some mail the other day from the ballistics department in Picatinny Arsenal in New Jersey. They found out about the null-void laser somehow and want to negociate a . . . Oh – I'm sorry, Professor, I have to go. My mother is calling. It's dinner time."

"Of course. I won't keep you. But Dexter?"

"Yes?"

"Are you all right?" pressed Utonium. "You don't sound very happy."

"School has lost its charm," he admitted quietly.

"Too hard?" he asked, knowing full well it wasn't.

Dexter snorted. "Too easy. I keep getting detention for not paying attention."

"Well, hang in there and do your best. Call me if you need anything. And email me the details from Picatinny!"

"I will. Give my regards to the girls, sir."

"I will. Take care, Dexter."

He hung up the phone, his hand lingering on the receiver for a moment as he recalled their very first phone conversation. Just a month into the school year and Utonium realized how much he missed hearing that Russian accent almost every week.

He had a sinking feeling that all was not well with his young friend. Perhaps Dexter was having trouble getting back into the routine of school. Perhaps he was bored, which was always a dangerous thing in a boy. Perhaps maturity was descending upon him and making him moody . . . er. There was any number of possibilities, but he sensed a deep sadness in Dexter despite his exciting news about improvements to the null-void.

And with a pang of regret, Utonium realized Dexter must be feeling terribly, terribly lonely. How could he not, after having gained friends and another family? With so many new experiences over the summer, how could the hum-drum routine of grade school compare?

**OoOoOoOoOoOoO**

"Dexter? Have a pork chop."

"Hmm? Oh, thanks, Mom." He took the plate she offered and speared a chop, passing it on to his father.

"Is something wrong? You're awfully quiet. Is school going okay?" she asked.

"School is going well. I'm not having any trouble with the AP classes."

"You haven't been eating much lately. Do you feel okay?"

How to answer such a question? he wondered. He felt bereft. Isolated. The only people who even vaguely understood him here were Mr. Bose and Mandark and he was hardly going to confide in either of them. Today was the first time in a week he hadn't been given detention. The elementary school teachers were cracking down on him as if they could force him to pay attention. His bed was not nearly as comfortable as the couch in the Utoniums' living room and he wasn't sleeping well. No one comprehended his humor, or even tried. The teasing here was not lovingly meant. How could he tell his mother he finally knew what it was to be happy and that by comparison right now he was the furthest thing from happy that could be imagined? That all he wanted to do was lock himself away and work in his lab and be done with everything else? He had no interest in anything outside of his research any more. Of what use was school to him when he knew more than the teachers? He knew they would argue he needed to socialize, but he was faced by bullies and jealousy at every turn. What benefit could be derived from that?

He was so long in considering his reply that his father lost patience and chirped up, "Well, maybe if you ate more you'd feel better. More corn?"

"Thanks, Dad," he said softly, taking the bowl. The conversation shifted and the opportunity was lost. Dexter, caught up in his own feelings, was content to let it slip away, and no one seemed to notice that his mother's concern went unanswered, including her.


	17. Invisible Son

**Invisible Sun**

**Chapter Seventeen: Invisible Son**

A/N My heartfelt thanks to Aneko Kitana for all the art she did for this chapter! Check out my profile for the link to her site!

**OoOoOoOoOoOoO**

He leaned against the window of the bus, unable to see anything in the rain-streaked glass but his own faint reflection. The days were shorter now, and in his haste to leave he had forgotten that when he arrived in Townsville it would be dark. No matter. He knew the place and the way there better than he knew his own neighborhood

He stared into his own eyes, wondering at the emptiness gazing back at him. For all his vast vocabulary, he did not have a word for what he was feeling at this moment. Lost was the first word that sprang to mind, but he knew exactly where he was. He wasn't running away from home as much as running there. Home was not a place but people, and he had never needed to be home more than this moment.

**OoOoOoOoOoOoO**

_"Dexter, something came for you in the mail."_

_She did not ask why he was late - again. She did not have any idea that he had been given detention - again. As soon as he saw the return address on the manila envelope he felt a twinge of panic. The Patent Office in Alexandria, Virginia. He glanced at his mother, wondering if she had noted where it came from and if she had the least curiosity why her son would be receiving letters from a government bureau. She just went back to loading the dishwasher, humming to herself. Dexter stared at her for a moment, deflated. Finally, with fingers that trembled, he tore open the envelope and pulled out the sheaf of papers._

_He gasped._

_"Good news, honey?" wondered his mother._

_He slowly smiled, staring at the letter. "Yes!" he breathed. "Yes! Mom! My patent has been issued!" He gaped at the top page, making himself read slowly, letting it all sink in._

_She glanced up, but showed no surprise. "Patent? That's nice. What's it for?" She turned to rinse off more plates in the sink._

_"I've developed a new type of self-contained weapon system I call null-void. It utilizes free energy to produce a power concentrate plasma . . . laser beam . . . which penetrates . . ."_

_He trailed off. His mother went on cleaning, humming faintly until she finally noticed him standing in the middle of the kitchen._

_"Go on, Dexter. I'm listening."_

_Disappointment was clear on his face. "No, you're not," he said, walking away unchallenged._

**OoOoOoOoOoOoO**

It was chilly on the bus and his lab coat was damp from standing in the rain at the stop. His stomach growled annoyingly and he closed his eyes, trying to ignore his hunger. Had he eaten any dinner? He could not recall, so most likely not. He tried not to think of what he had left behind, but of what he would say when he arrived. The cold and his hunger and misery conspired against him. His thoughts would not be turned away from the past two days.

**OoOoOoOoOoOoO**

_His mother, sensing she had let him down with her lack of interest and enthusiasm for his achievement, at least tried to make amends. They sat down to dinner and almost immediately she turned to her husband._

_"Dexter has good news. Tell your father, honey."_

_Willing to be mollified, Dexter smiled as he said, "I received word today - my null-void patent has been issued."_

_DeeDee gasped, wide-eyed and delighted. She reached across the table to give his hand a squeeze. His father managed to look impressed. _

_"Patent? That's great! When did you apply for a patent?"_

_He blinked. "This past July."_

_"Wow, that was fast! Usually they take years to get."_

_"I had help," he admitted._

_His father did not even ask who had helped him. "Must have been a lot of paperwork. DeeDee, could you pass me the butter?"_

_"It was. You were there when I finished filling it out, Dad. You took me to the post office to send it certified mail. I told you exactly what it was!"_

_"Oh, I thought that was homework."_

_"Why would I do homework in July?" he muttered._

_"Pretty amazing that it was processed so quickly. Those government offices are slower than molasses. Even the DMV can take forever. Remember when I tried to renew my license three years ago?"_

_And the conversation at the table - if it could be called a conversation - went from touching on Dexter's achievement to complaints about governmental bureaucracy. Dexter sat before his empty plate, unable to eat anything, barely hearing their voices over the rushing in his ears._

_"Dexter? Dexter? Aren't you going to eat?"_

_He snapped back to the here-and-now at his mother's worried voice._

_"I'm not hungry," he mumbled. "May I be excused?"_

_"You won't get any dessert," chimed his father brightly, as if this threat would motivate him._

_Dexter stared at him, wondering how anyone could be so tedious. He rose, gathering his place setting together. "I don't want any."_

_As he set the plate and glass on the kitchen counter, he could hear his sister's squeaky voice._

_"Dad, did you even ask Dexter what a null-void _is_?"_

_"I already know, sweetums," laughed his father, "it's what your brother just patented. You all ready for your dance recital?"_

**OoOoOoOoOoOoO**

"Next stop, City of Townsville Station."

He sucked in his breath, startled awake. He had fallen into a hazy sort of trance, watching the distorted lights of passing cars as the bus approached Townsville. Trepidation twisted in his belly, making him feel nauseous. What if this was the wrong thing to do? What if they cared as little as -

No. They cared. He knew they did. The past summer had proven as much. Dexter swallowed, his throat tight and the action painful. They would have celebrated his news. They would have hugged him and laughed and asked countless questions even if the answers made no sense to them. They would have been glad for him and with him, not indifferent.

**OoOoOoOoOoOoO**

_"Dexter! Oh, Dexter, I'm so s-sorry! I didn't - I mean - Oh, Dexter, is it ruined?"_

_He set down the fire extinguisher. DeeDee, knowing she had done it this time, stared at him with wide and anxious blue eyes that brimmed with tears. She clutched her bruised elbow and bit her lip and watched her brother's despair multiply._

_"Yes," he said softly, staring at the containment field generator's control panel. "It is ruined."_

_She made a little sound in her throat, biting her lip. "Dexter, honestly, honestly, I really didn't mean to do that. I slipped and my elbow . . ." With a sniff she broke off, perfectly miserable as she took in his expression. Better than anyone, she knew her brother. For all he barely showed any reaction, she could tell he was still extremely upset from the night before and now in her clumsiness she had wrecked one of his projects when she had only been trying to cheer him up._

_"I know, DeeDee. I saw," he replied, his mind calculating what it would take to repair the unit. It was an absolute necessity to have this generator working properly if he was to accomplish anything in neo-neuroatomics, only . . ._

_Waving at the last puffs of smoke emanating from the panel, he braved the heat and removed the cover. He sighed when he saw the destruction inside. Pulling out one of the circuit boards, he stared at it, mentally cringing, and saw that the others were equally damaged. It would cost a lot to replace these even if he built them himself. More than he could afford right now._

_"Dexter?"_

_He did not hear her. The hot metal burned through his glove, melting it onto his fingers, but he did not care. He barely felt it. Dropping the board, he walked away._

_"Come on, DeeDee, or we'll be late for school."_

**OoOoOoOoOoOoO**

The bus station was noisy and smelly as the rush hour traffic dispersed. People pushed and crowded as they made their way to connecting trains and buses and hurried to reach their cars. Dodging the crush, Dexter wound his way to the schedule posted on the electronic board. To his disappointment he realized his connection to Elm Street, which would put him three blocks from the Utomiums' street, had already departed. The next bus would not go out that way for another three hours, and by then it would be far too late to go knocking on their door. He could call, but a glance at the clock told him it was their dinner time. It would not be right to disturb them while they ate, and there was not enough money left over from DeeDee's allowance to get a cab.

Pulling off his glasses, he rubbed his eyes. He could feel a headache coming on. And what had he been thinking when he left without a warmer coat? Had he been thinking? Apparently not. Very sloppy. He'd been too distracted by his emotions to apply logic with anything like accuracy.

Well. He returned his glasses to his face. It was just a little over four miles, and he knew the route to the suburbs perfectly well. If he could avoid being snatched up by another one of the city's numerous villains, he could be there in a bit more than an hour. It was better than waiting for the next bus.

Pulling his collar up closer to his ears, Dexter left the busy station. A few blocks down the brightly-lit city streets, it began to rain again. He pressed on, too numb and cold to care.

**OoOoOoOoOoOoO**

_The hand landed full and heavy on his back and his feet were swept from beneath him as he was shoved to the ground. Dexter hit the floor of the hallway with jarring force, landing on his burned hand and losing his glasses at the impact. He grimaced in pain, and then snatched the glasses out of harm's way just as a foot stomped to the ground inches from his face. He rolled away, sitting up and recognizing his attacker: Cody Dillon. If the school had a Neanderthal brute enrolled, it was undoubtedly Cody._

_"What's going on here?"_

_Dexter looked up, recognizing Mrs. Payne, his English teacher. She was on her way to her homeroom and had come upon them just a moment too late._

_"Oh, he tripped, Mrs. P," said Cody hastily. "I was just helping him up."_

_"That's nice of you, Cody. Well, be careful, Dexter. I'll see you later."_

_Cody grinned at having gotten away with his attack, but when he turned to resume his bullying, Dexter was gone._

**OoOoOoOoOoOoO**

_"Dexter? Dexter!"_

_He lifted his chin from atop his hands. Mr. Morphy, the AP calculus teacher, was looking at him with annoyance._

_"I know you're bored," snapped Morphy, who was completely intimidated by his youngest, brightest student, "but can I ask you to answer the question?"_

_Dexter glanced at the long, complex calculation being projected on the screen. "Circle with a radius of _a_, _a_ being an arbitrary positive real constant."_

_The older students, the juniors and seniors, still laboring over their calculations, softly groaned and shook their heads in amazement and envy. He was perfectly right of course, and Morphy moved on with the lesson. Only one student, the only one that was already done with the problem, noticed his dull tone. Mandark glanced over at his red-headed rival. He had seen the burn on Dexter's purple glove and had caught the smell of burnt metal and plastic clinging to him. Something was wrong. Something had happened to knock the arrogance and attitude clean out of him. Like Dexter, Mandark gave up paying attention to Morphy, but unlike Dexter he bent all his considerable power of concentration on his fellow fifth-grader._

_Obsessively, he knew Dexter through and through, having made it his business to know as much as he could about the only serious competition he had. He knew his rival's moods, his expressions, his likes and dislikes, and could tell at a glance what sort of attitude Dexter was adopting from day to day. As he studied the downcast profile, he realized this was new. He had never known Dexter to let himself drift off in class no matter how completely Morphy stripped all the pleasure out of learning. He was not distracted as he had been over the laser cannon - he was simply going through the motions. In a rush Mandark realized he had seen this mood upon Dexter before:_

_Depression._

_Crushing, staggering depression. Mandark sat back in his uncomfortable chair, his mind racing with the possibilities. He could easily exploit this to his advantage, but as he considered the numerous outcomes he came to realize he did not want to. Rivals - almost enemies - though they may be, Dexter was what forced Mandark to apply himself fully to excel. This sluggish, unenthusiastic boy genius was useless to him. Mandark needed Dexter sharp and competitive or he might grow complacent. This would not do at all. Didn't his parents see it? _

_At lunch time they were driven back to their elementary school for the remainder of the day. Normally they did not speak to one another out of principle, but today the silence was very different from their usual show of contempt. Mandark knew that Dexter's heart just was not into hating him. That he was no longer the focus of Dexter's scorn was rather disconcerting, and so when Dexter departed for the science lab for the rest of the hour, Mandark braved the cafeteria and the sixth grade tables to find DeeDee._

_As always she set his heart to racing and her welcoming smile ravished him. Struggling for control of his voice and emotions, Mandark managed to decline her offer to join her and her numerous friends and only stumbled over his words twice as he asked to speak to her alone. In the hall outside the cafeteria, DeeDee softly confirmed her brother's mood. She would not elaborate, afraid of being fired as his sister again if she divulged too much._

_"I don't know what to do," DeeDee admitted sadly._

_Mandark considered, hardly able to believe he was looking for a means of helping Dexter. He consoled himself because his motivations were purely selfish and he did not want to see the love of his life look glum._

_"Where has he been going all summer?" he asked. "I've never seen him so . . . happy." He managed to say the word without choking on it._

_"He's been visiting friends," said DeeDee. "In Townsville."_

_Mandark fixed her with a steady, knowing look, well aware that Dexter's parents were at least as useless as his own and DeeDee was the only hope for amending this situation. "Send him back to his friends."_

_Her eyes lit up at the suggestion, dazzling him. When she leaned over and kissed him on the cheek and whispered, "Thank you for caring so much," Mandark was rendered completely useless for the remainder of the day._

**OoOoOoOoOoOoO**

He passed the bus stop by Elm Street, remembering when one or all of the Powerpuff Girls would be waiting for him, sometimes with the Professor, and they would catch up as they walked the three blocks to the Utonium house. There was a certain delight in being welcomed and wanted for himself. His stress grew as he drew closer to the familiar street. What was he doing? He _was_ running away. What if the Professor took him to task for leaving without telling his parents? Surely DeeDee had covered for him. Dexter paused, standing in the pouring rain. He was soaked to the skin and quaking with cold and almost sick with anxiety. It was too late to go back. He had come too far. Besides, he had promised the Professor he would come to him when he needed help. There were lights on in the house that cast a warm yellow glow. He hurried past the Smith residence, praying they didn't see fit to target him again, and stood on the step before the red door.

How long he hesitated he could not say. It could have been seconds or minutes or an hour. Mustering his strength, Dexter reached out and rang the doorbell.

**OoOoOoOoOoOoO**

_The day was one of the worst he could remember. Lack of sleep, lack of food, and crushing misery all left him moody and vulnerable. He would have sworn time stopped entirely, so slowly did the day pass. Even the fact that it was Friday and they had the weekend before them did nothing to lift his spirits. He should have been ecstatic over the patent, but his parents' lack of interest had sapped all the joy from the achievement. And now with the repairs for containment field generator . . ._

_There was nothing for it. He needed money. It was not possible to try to produce the null-void laser and continue in neo-neuroatomics without more funding. It was one or the other otherwise, and his resources were being devoured before his eyes._

_He barely heard Olga's sneering name-calling as he took a seat on the bus. A moment later their neighbor fell silent as DeeDee sat beside him, dropping into the seat with a small 'oof!' At first he didn't notice, but she poked him in the arm to get his attention. He looked over at her. "Whaaat?"_

_"Hi, Dexter!" was all she said._

_"Hello, DeeDee," he whispered back, recognizing that not only was she was protecting him from the rowdier students, but DeeDee was trying once again to apologize for the mishap this morning. He managed a small smile, wishing he meant it, but by the time they got off the bus and started walking home his mind was made up._

_Before dinner that evening he stepped into the living room. His father was in his usual chair, reading the newspaper in a routine that had hardly altered in Dexter's whole lifetime._

_"Dad?"_

_"Yeah, son?" came his father's chipper voice from behind the wall of newspaper._

_"Can I ask you something?"_

_"'Course. Fire away."_

_He waited, but his father just turned the page and went on reading._

_"Can you please put the paper down and look at me when I speak?"_

_He had not meant to snap, but it came out that way. His father blinked at him in astonishment, but complied._

_"Was that your question?"_

_"No!" He took a deep breath, trying to regain control of himself and the situation. "Dad, please. I need to ask you something. It's important. I need your help."_

_"Have you got a girlfriend?" was the teasing, ill-timed inquiry._

_"NO!" he said through gritted teeth. "Will you please listen?"_

_Something about him silenced his father, and finally Dexter was given a moment's peace. He took another breath before he began. "You know I received the patent for the null-void laser yesterday. It's a very marketable item for the military and I've already been contacted by several government suppliers about it. I would prefer, however, to go into production for myself. That would allow me to control the product and its quality and design improvements. My problem right now is finances. The patent lawyer was very expensive and I need more funding. I wanted to see if you would be willing to secure me a loan."_

_"I suppose we could advance your allowance . . ."_

_"Uh, no, Dad, I'd need a bit more than that, though I believe I'd be able to pay it all back within two years, three at the most."_

_His father indulged him. "How much are we talking here?"_

_He braced himself. "Forty thousand dollars." That was the minimum amount he needed, and he cringed to say it aloud._

_"For-" His father broke into a broad grin. "Forty thousand? Ha! You had me going there, Dexter! Good one."_

_"I'm serious, Dad."_

_"Sure you are! What would you do with forty thousand dollars?"_

_Trying to reign in his impatience, Dexter gestured. "I would start producing and marketing the null-void laser! Let me explain-"_

_His father opened the paper, ending the discussion. "Very funny, Dexter."_

_"Dad . . ."_

_"Joke's over, son."_

_He did not eat dinner with them. That would have been impossible, especially after he heard his father in the kitchen laughingly tell Mom about his request. He just slipped away from the table at the earliest opportunity and softly closed the door behind him as he left the house. Sitting on the curb of the driveway, Dexter sat looking at his burned glove, wondering why he had not changed them this morning. Usually he was so careful with such things . . ._

_"Dexter?"_

_DeeDee sank down beside him and put an arm around his shoulders, gazing at him anxiously for a moment. She hated to see him so dejected, and her efforts to lighten his mood this morning had just made a bad situation worse. Seeing his expression, she came to a decision instantly._

_"Here." She thrust the fistful of money she carried at him. It was her allowance for the past few weeks, saved up, he knew, for the special edition Pony Puff Princess figurine she longed to own._

_"DeeDee, no, you don't have to -"_

_"No! No! It's not for what I wrecked. I know I'd never be able to pay for all that," she hastily explained. "It's for bus fare. It'll get you to Townsville. Go visit the Utoniums. I'll cover for you. You're always so happy to go see them. You need that now. Dad and Mom . . . they don't . . ."_

_"Care," he finished bitterly._

_"I was going to say understand. They do care, Dexter!"_

_"Not about me," he whispered. He closed his hand on the money. "Thank you."_

**OoOoOoOoOoOoO**

It was his usual Friday night vigil of reading and waiting and trying not to worry as his children patrolled the city. Professor Utonium, for all his daughters were classified as having ultra-super powers and were more than capable of dealing with monsters, villains, crimes, disasters, and any sort of emergency, would never overcome the instinct to worry.

He jumped when the doorbell rang. Immediately he assumed the worst, and then chided himself. If anything had happened to the girls he would have been called by the Mayor or chief of police. He went to the front door and threw it wide, then gasped when he saw who stood there in the pouring rain.

"Dexter! What - What are you doing here?"

"I'm s-sorry," the boy stuttered, shivering and pale and soaked to the skin. Utonium wasted no time hustling him indoors. Dexter stood dripping on the hall rug, his teeth chattering as he stammered, "M-m-my apologies, Professor. I-I don't mean to b-bother you or your daught-ers." He swallowed heavily, gulping for air, and his agitation was evident.

Utonium shook his head, concerned. "No, no, it's no bother. Don't ever worry about that, Dexter. It's not a school night so the girls are out on patrol. What's wrong? What - what is it?"

"I - I need to talk," he whispered. He raised wide, frightened eyes to the much taller man that he loved and respected so completely, looking like a caged animal. "I j-just need . . ."

He broke off, battling for control. Utonium knelt down, certain he understood what Dexter was feeling even if he did not know the reason behind it. An adult intellect - a genius intellect, no less - in a child's body, especially with a child's comprehension of emotions, was not a thing easily dealt with or appreciated. Once upon a time he had gone through the same thing, only he had the support of his family and even had a few friends growing up. Dexter was not cherished by his parents as he needed to be in order to thrive and had little support or understanding. He was simply too far beyond their experience to grasp, and so he lived isolated by a lack of peers and friends. It was not healthy or right or fair.

Dexter took a step forward, wavering, and Utonium, who saw himself as a father before any other function or role in life, opened his arms. A moment later he bent his head close and warm to the boy's, holding him and simply being there for this lonely child and brilliant scientist and his friend. He could feel Dexter's hands gripping his coat, feel him tremble, and he knew it was as much with cold as with emotion. He smoothed the wet hair beneath his fingers and let the child be a child for a span. It did not happen often enough in Dexter's life. Utonium was used to this. He had three daughters that fought crime and evil on a regular basis, and such devotion and ability came at a price. Sometimes it overwhelmed. Dexter did not have super powers, but his burning intelligence set him just as far apart from the rest of the world as the Powerpuff Girls. At least his children had each other.

"It's all right," he said, wishing he could make everything better. "I have you."

"I . . . I'm invisible to them," Dexter whispered. He gulped, fighting the urge to cry and losing the battle. "The only time people hear me when I speak is when I'm here."

"I know," soothed the Professor. "I've been where you are, Dexter. I understand."

He pulled back to look at his tearful young friend. A beautiful little boy, sharp-faced and with blazing blue eyes that were far too old for his scant years. He brushed the dripping red hair out of Dexter's face, wondering if the boy's mother had ever thought to do as much for him. Would Dexter even let her, at this point? Had anyone besides DeeDee ever really been there for him? Touched him? Held him when he wanted to cry?

"Let's get you warmed up," the Professor said softly. He kept his hand on Dexter's shoulder. "Come on. I'll get you something dry to wear and something to eat. Then we can talk."

Dexter nodded, sniffing. Impulsively Utonium gathered him in close again, sensing that one hug was simply not enough. He had never been more right. He enfolded the distraught boy in his arms. Small hands clutched his lab coat with desperate need as Dexter was overwhelmed. Holding him gently, letting him sob out his grief, the Professor was struck at how fragile, how precious this moment of trust really was, and how fortunate he was that Dexter had turned to him in this moment of need.


	18. Time Out

**Invisible Sun**

**Chapter Eighteen: Time Out**

Raiding Buttercup's dresser for socks and a sweat suit (Blossom's entire wardrobe being pink and everything that Bubbles owned being edged with lace, neither of which would be acceptable to an eleven-year-old boy even if he was exhausted), the Professor sent Dexter to change out of his dripping clothes. By the time he emerged from the bathroom he had calmed down somewhat. Meeting him in the hall, Utonium was struck at the difference a few months had made – or hadn't made. Despite the fact that he should be growing like a weed, Dexter did not seem to have gained any height and if anything, he had lost weight he could ill afford. He was swimming in Buttercup's clothes, and he shivered even though Utonium had cranked up the heat to something not far removed from the tropics.

Fetching his own plaid bathrobe, Utonium wrapped Dexter snugly and sent him to the living room to relax. Too worn and distracted to argue, the boy obeyed. The lack of conversation was troublesome, because normally Dexter was a chatterbox the first few hours of his visits, following Utonium around and asking questions and catching up and discussing the latest scientific journals. Hastily the Professor made some hot chocolate, knowing something warm would help, and set out some cheese and crackers and grapes. He had to get some food into the boy, of that he was certain.

"Thank you," whispered Dexter as Utonium handed him the steaming mug and put the plate of food in easy reach.

"Drink it while it's hot. It'll help warm you up," urged Utonium. "Give me your hand. I've got cream for that burn."

No protest was forthcoming as Utonium dressed the deep burn across Dexter's fingers. It looked painful, and it had gone ignored and untreated. For a long while there was no sound but the patter of rain on the picture window and the occasional, faint, shuddering sniffs and gasps from Dexter as his shivering gradually ceased. At the Professor's insistence he ate the cheese and fruit. It helped to have something in his stomach. Finally Dexter looked up at him, his fatigue evident in every line.

"I apologize again, Professor. I shouldn't have come without calling."

"Dexter," said Utonium, almost sternly, "you did exactly the right thing. You can always come here. You said it yourself - this is your home."

The boy ducked his head, close to tears again, and he pulled off his glasses. "I'm sorry. That was presumptuous of me."

"Don't apologize. It's perfectly true and one of the smartest things you've ever said. Don't sell your regard so short. Now what's wrong? What happened?"

Dexter sighed, shaking his head as he held the bridge of his nose against the building pressure of a headache. His troubles were those of an adult, not a child, and his exhausted body was working against him right now.

"I don't know what to do. I . . . I don't know. I feel trapped. I planned on beginning producing and marketing the null-void laser. I would have had almost enough money after paying Ms. Marsh except -" He broke off, shaking his head.

"DeeDee?" Utonium hesitantly suggested. He cringed when Dexter nodded.

"DeeDee. It was not deliberate . . . it never seems to be . . . but she damaged the controls for the neo-neuroatomic field containment generator. I will have to replace it immediately. You'd think a ballerina would have a bit more grace," he said, swallowing hard and looking away as he tried to regain control of his emotions. Utonium let him talk, knowing that was what Dexter needed most at the moment besides a few days of uninterrupted sleep. He also knew by now that Dexter was willing to put up with just about anything his sister did simply because she was the only one of her family to give him the attention and regard he so craved.

"So. With this additional expense I cannot afford to produce the null-void on a scale to make it profitable even with the military's interest. Without that income, I cannot continue." Dexter dropped his hand and looked up with the Professor with red-rimmed eyes. "I am going to have to sell the patent on the null-void laser."

"What?" exclaimed the older man. "No!"

"I've little choice," Dexter returned. "The lab at Picatinny Arsenal is still interested in it. I had a . . . decent offer from a military contractor through them just last week."

"Dexter, you've been working on perfecting that for years!"

"And now it is perfect and can be marketed."

"Sell it and you'll never realize its worth!"

Dexter dropped his gaze, defeated. "Don't sell it and never realize neo-neuroatomics and the Megabot 4000. I've little choice."

"Have you applied for funds?"

"Yes. Numerous times," he said bitterly. "There is no institution in existence that will hand over tens of thousands of dollars on loan to a _child_. I've _tried_, Professor. Have you any idea how sick I am of being called precocious and being laughed at when I am in deadly earnest?" His voice rose, betraying his anger and frustration.

"What about your parents?"

"My parents are useless!" he snapped, giving vent to his passion. Despite his best effort, the tears started to flow again. "They don't care. They think I'm a joke. I told them about the patent and they said nothing. I asked my father for help and he laughed. I am not the son they want. They dote on DeeDee endlessly and I can do _nothing_ right. They know _nothing_ about me! They don't know _me_!"

And therein lay the real problem. Utonium reached for him and placed his hand on the boy's shoulder. "They don't know _how_ to understand you, Dexter."

His voice was a miserable whisper and he bowed his head. "They never tried."

The Professor had no answer, knowing he was absolutely right.

Leaning back with a sigh, Dexter removed his glasses again to rub his eyes, blinking back the escaping tears. "The only invention I ever sold was the animal neurological enhancement that allowed domesticated animals to understand human speech and copy it." A little groan escaped him. "I knew it was a mistake but I needed the money badly for research into the null-void laser. I was actually relieved when the enhancements were banned in California and then across the country. Dogs are the stupidest animals. They love the sound of their own voices."

"_You_ developed that?"

From his sprawled position, Dexter nodded. "To my shame, but the profits were substancial and sustained me to this point. All the talking animals running around the world today are _my _fault, including that ridiculous cat that kidnapped you. My apologies, Professor. My only defense is that I was in third grade and flat broke."

And now he was in fifth grade. Amazing.

"Dexter, the research behind that was decades ahead of its time!"

"And look where it got us! Obnoxious dogs that can't drive and cat burglars!

"It ended well," Utonium said gently, staggered anew at Dexter's genius. "And you're not answerable for what people do with your work."

He raised his head, suddenly horrified. "Oh, tell me I'm not responsible for Mojo Jojo!"

"You're not," Utonium quickly assured him. "He's my fault."

Dexter did not bother to pursue that line of conversation. That would keep for another time. He just accepted the Professor's claim and dropped his head back again. "After I saw how the enhancements were exploited and abused, I swore I would never sell another invention that could be so subverted. Such a misuse of science, Professor. It sickened me. Now I have to break my oath, and I fear my work will be misused again." Desperately, he looked to his friend and mentor, his barriers crumbling as he confessed, "I don't know what to do."

"I do, but you need to get some rest before anything else," the Professor said. "You're too exhausted to think clearly right now or make any big decisions."

He completely missed the reassurance offered, sure sign of how distraught he was. "I can't sleep."

Utonium knew better. "Yes, you can."

"Fine. I don't _want_ to. I just want . . ."

"Dexter, lie down and rest."

"I-"

"I said rest, not sleep. Don't make me give you a time out."

The blue eyes grew wide at the notion. Clearly no one had ever threatened him so, and Utonium felt smug for having stumped him. Dexter's discipline – erratic at times – was clearly self-imposed, and he was tangling with an expert. Three daughters were a far greater challenge than one boy, super genius or not.

"A – A – A time out?" was the scandalized, sputtered response. "Time _out_? You would not - "

"Ah!" Utonium raised a warning finger. "Not another word, mister."

This was a completely new experience for Dexter. He had been punished occasionally as a child, but he had never been disciplined _and_ shut up by someone he respected as completely as the Professor. As usual, without more data to work with, he did not know how to respond.

"Professor!" he protested.

"You're eleven, right?" demanded Utonium. At Dexter's mute nod he said, "Then you can sit here for eleven minutes. No talking, no getting up, just sit here, Dexter, and be still. I'll be back." He rose, smiling at the baffled expression his words had produced. "Not a word or you start over again in the corner."

Slack-jawed, Dexter looked to the corner where the Professor pointed, and when he turned back he was alone in the living room. For a minute or so he just sat in shock, wondering if this was actually happening to him, and then he considered the wisdom of Utonium's words. He _was_ exhausted. And overwhelmed. And hurt and cold and confused and frustrated and too many other things to list. Wrapping himself in the warm robe, Dexter settled down, resting his aching head on one of the throw pillows and listening to the gentle sound of rain on the windows.

Utonium did not return for more than twenty minutes. As expected, Dexter was soundly asleep, a slight bump on his sofa. Gently he slipped Dexter's glasses off his face and set them on the end table before he fetched more blankets. Tucking the covers around his young friend, Utonium paused to brush his hand gently through the boy's thick red hair. Sleep softened the lines of Dexter's face, and without his glasses he looked like the child he was.

"Just sleep, Dexter," whispered the Professor, wishing he could convey to this exceptional boy how deeply at least one person in the world understood him. He had been where Dexter was now. Perhaps not quite as unsupported at home, but he knew the conflict between creation and exploitation and the despair it generated. "Everything will be all right. I promise."

His fatherly instincts overcame him for a moment and he leaned down to press a kiss to Dexter's hair, wondering briefly what it would have been like to have a son. Just like this, he realized with a tender smile. Then he took a seat where he could keep an eye on his friend and the window at the same time, waiting for his daughters to come home.

**OoOoOoOoOoOoO**

They were back just before midnight. He saw the trails of pink, blue, and green energy shoot over the house and he hurried to intercept them before they could make their usual ruckus. Since it was still raining they came in through the back door and not their bedroom, and their happy voices rose up as they grabbed the towels and robes he had laid out for them in the mud room.

"Professor!" they all squealed in greeting, and three powerful hugs caught him from three directions. He met them each with a kiss on the cheek before he closed the door behind him. That was remarkable enough that they noticed, but they knew he would tell them what was different about the night in his own time.

"How was patrol?"

"Boring," said Buttercup, toweling her short hair so it all stood up on end.

"Fun!" was Bubbles' assessment. "We got soaked!" She giggled and pointed at her sister's wild hair.

"Routine," Blossom finished, wiping her face dry.

"Good."

"How was your night?" wondered Blossom, eyeing him keenly.

"Intense," he said, silencing them all. They looked up with wide eyes. Rarely had their father used that word to describe his own experiences.

"What happened?" demanded Buttercup, immediately assuming the worst and gearing up to do something about it.

He raised his hands for calm. "We have a guest, girls. Dexter is here. He came to see me."

"Dexter!"

Immediately they were excited, and all three began talking at once. That they were so animated told him how much they had missed his visits.

"Oh, Professor, is he still here? Can we keep him?" Bubbles was begging, clinging to his hand. She had been asking that since July.

He smiled down at her. "For the weekend. I spoke to his parents before. He'll stay with us until Sunday if he wants to."

For them there was no question that Dexter might not want to stay. They had been too long without teasing him and they had all missed his accent and the trouble that seemed to follow in his wake. To say that they were in ecstasies was an understatement, and Utonium regretted not getting the boy over sooner and far more often since school had started.

As always, it was Blossom who first cottoned on to something being amiss. For Dexter to just appear, at night, during the school year, was unprecedented. "Professor, is he okay?"

Glad that she had given him an opening, Utonium said, "He's very upset, girls, and very tired. He's had some big disappointments and setbacks. He came here because he knows we listen to him."

"What about his mom and dad?"

"They don't know how to understand him, Blossom. Not every family knows how to deal with gifted children and unfortunately, even though I'm . . . I'm sure they love him, Dexter's parents don't listen very well."

"What happened, Professor?" wondered Bubbles in a small, small voice.

Demanded Buttercup, "Did somebody hurt him?" Her hands were clenched into fists and she was ready to go to war for her friend.

"He's learned a hard lesson. One I learned when I was a few years older than he is. Don't worry, though. We can help him through this."

"Where is he now?" Blossom pressed.

"He's asleep in the living room. Why don't you go upstairs and change and I'll bring you some hot chocolate? Be quiet going up and be quiet in the morning. He needs to sleep himself out."

They nodded, exchanging knowing glances, and hurried out. A few minutes later he found them lined up in front of the couch in the living room, silently studying the sleeping boy with equal amounts of curiosity and concern. They were all in their nightgowns and slippers, their hair hastily brushed, and he knew they had rushed just to see him even if there was no hope of him rousing. Utonium motioned for them to head upstairs and he followed them with the tray of steaming mugs.

"He's skinnier than the last time he was here," Buttercup stated the moment the bedroom door was closed. "Has he been sick?"

Leave it to her to notice such a detail. Utonium held the tray for them to take their hot chocolate, saying, "I think he's just overworked himself, darling."

"I could pick him up with one hand," she complained, as if Utonium could somehow instantly rectify the situation to her satisfaction.

"You can pick up a bus with one hand, Buttercup," Blossom reminded.

"You know what I mean."

"Professor, what can we do to help?" asked Bubbles.

He sat down on the floor with them. "We can listen and be nice, Bubbles. That's what he needs the most right now." Blossom and Bubbles snuggled close and he put his arms around them, pulling them closer still while Buttercup lay down partially on his legs, leaning on her hand and kicking up her feet.

"He doesn't have many friends, does he?" asked Buttercup, her green eyes bright with concern.

"No, I don't think so. Not many. So the ones he does have mean an awful lot to him. I was almost the same way when I was his age only . . . I think he's a lot lonelier than I was."

"Well, he's got us three!" Blossom said fiercely.

"And me," Utonium added softly.

"We'll make him feel better, Professor," promised Bubbles, hugging him tightly. "Don't you worry!"

**OoOoOoOoOoOoO**

The next morning Dexter awoke with a headache so awful that he thought he must be dying. Nothing less could explain the sharp, pounding spike of pain being driven through his skull, and he welcomed the end. He raised his head with a groan and blinked at the early morning light pouring in through the windows. He tried to remember where he was and how he had gotten here. Girlish voices reached his ears and at the edge of his vision he saw a flash of blonde hair. He grimaced, not in any sort of mood to deal with his sister.

"DeeDee, leave me alone," he muttered, dropping back down on the pillows so he could die in agonized solitude. There was a whispered conference right beside him. Moments later he heard heavy steps approach and a man's voice, too deep to be his father's, gently asked,

"Dexter? What's wrong?"

He blinked up at Professor Utonium, surprised to see the man perched beside him, his face full of concern.

"Head . . . ache."

A cool hand rested against his cheek. "You're a little feverish, too. I'm not surprised. You can take aspirin, right?"

He nodded, disappointed when the hand was removed.

"We'll get you some, and then I want you to rest some more. You should feel better when you wake up again." Utonium quietly addressed his daughters. "Bubbles, will you close the blinds? Buttercup, Blossom, please get the aspirin and a glass of water."

Dexter simply accepted the scientist's diagnosis, his trust in this man's word absolute. Utonium did not leave his side as he swallowed the aspirin and finished the glass of cool water. Covering him warmly once again, the Professor gently rubbed Dexter's back until he nodded off a few minutes later.

"Is he sick, Professor?" Bubbles asked anxiously. She and her sisters had only ever been sick once, and they had hated every moment of the cold they had shared. Sweet soul that she was, Bubbles worried that Dexter might be sick on top of disappointed and upset.

"I don't think so," Utonium said, adjusting the blankets and smoothing Dexter's hair. "I think he's just worn himself to nothing. Come on. He'll be hungry when he wakes up later."


	19. Unwanted

**Invisible Sun**

**Chapter Nineteen: Unwanted**

When Dexter awoke just before noon, he felt at once better and worse than when he had arrived. His headache was gone, but he felt strangely hot and disoriented. His body was sore and heavy and his thoughts were muddled as if he could not shake off sleep entirely. It had been years since he had driven himself so hard and for so long, but he knew all was not right with him. He did not recognize complete exhaustion - physical as well as mental - for what it was.

Taking stock of himself, Dexter remembered his arrival and conversation with the Professor last night. In his relief to be heard he had said more than he intended, but Professor Utonium's understanding and sympathy had undone him. Still, after the past few days not even Dexter could blame himself for breaking down so completely. He did not know what he was going to do about his dilemma yet, and he tried to shove his thoughts about funding and selling the null-void to the back of his mind for now with only partial success. He had higher priorities at the moment, namely something to eat. He was famished.

Slowly and stiffly he threw back the blankets and got to his feet. To his surprise he was wearing oversized clothes which, being green, could only belong to Buttercup. She would probably laugh to see him wearing her things. He was still swathed in the Professor's robe. It was huge on him but warm, and he wrapped it snugly around his narrow waist and retied the sash. Where his own clothes were he had no idea, but he found his glasses on the table and felt a little less dizzy when he could again see clearly.

There were quiet voices coming from the kitchen and he followed the sounds to find Bubbles and the Professor prepping the evening meal. At a glance he realized dinner would consist of all his favorite foods, including half a dozen different vegetables. He smiled at the thoughtful gesture. Not even on his birthday had he ever been so treated.

"Good morning!" exclaimed Bubbles, spotting him. "Professor, Dexter's awake!"

She was so excited that she could not resist giving him a quick hug. With a whispered, "I'm so glad to see you! I missed you!" she hurried off to tell her sisters that he was once again among the living.

"How do you feel?" asked Utonium, searching Dexter's expression.

"I really don't know," he replied softly, less than alert. Finally he settled on, "Hungry."

"Still a little feverish, too," said the Professor as he pressed the back of his hand to Dexter's cheek. "I'll get you some more aspirin. What would you like to eat?"

"Anything at all. Professor - my parents? Do they know I'm here?"

Utonium smiled to ease his worry. "I spoke to your mother last night after you fell asleep. They know you're here and she said you could stay the weekend."

Relieved, he sighed. "Thank you. I'm sorry I -"

"Dexter." Utonium knelt so that they could see eye-to-eye. Reaching out, he gently held Dexter's face in both hands, making the boy look at him. "Don't apologize. I said it last night, I'll say it again now - you did exactly the right thing coming here. You can _always_ come here. Do you understand that? Always."

He nodded, swallowing at the lump in his throat.

"If you can't get here, call. We'll come to you, I promise. I just wish you had let me know sooner that so much was going wrong."

"I . . . I didn't want to bother you."

Utonium shook his head sadly and brushed the hair from Dexter's eyes. "The whole point of friends is having someone to bother when you hit a rough patch. Now grab a seat and I'll fix you some lunch."

He was just sitting down to a sandwich when the Powerpuff Girls piled into the kitchen. They were quietly ecstatic to see him and without a word Utonium made more sandwiches. They all sat together through the meal, talking about nothing in particular. Dexter started eating first and finished last and spoke very little. Seated at the kitchen counter between Blossom and Bubbles, he felt a strange unease not encountered before in the company of this family. It was not a sense that he did not fit in. It was like the first time they had met, but it would take more than a bowlful of carrots dumped in his lap to overcome the sense of awkwardness. They were terribly worried about him and trying hard not to let it show.

And even though he regretted causing them a moment's anxiety, there was comfort in knowing they were so concerned.

****

OoOoOoOoOoOoO

Watching Dexter slowly consume his first real meal in what had to be days, the Professor was struck by what a pale shade of his former, animated self the boy had become. It was not that Dexter had the robust presence he always associated with his daughters, each of them a powerhouse in her own right, but the flame that burned so brilliantly in Dexter and illuminated the world around him was diminished. Whether it was lingering exhaustion, fever, depression, or any combination of these factors weighing him down Utonium could not tell, but he watched Dexter closely and felt his heart break for the young genius. His girls hid their distress well and applied themselves to amusing their friend, but the Professor suspected Dexter's despair had not lessened much from last night.

The remainder of the day was unlike any they had ever spent together. Quiet, withdrawn, moody, Dexter avoided any talk about science or his latest work or school. The trio of girls did not pressure him, and eventually he was content to settle down in the window seat in the kitchen and read a biography of Edmund Halley. Utonium kept up a steady stream of juice in his glass, determined that Dexter's condition would not get any worse, and he changed the dressing on Dexter's burned hand. The last thing the boy needed now was to get genuinely sick.

In a show of solidarity, all three of the Powerpuff Girls found something to read and made their way to the kitchen to sit with Dexter, all of them crowding onto the cushioned seat and curling close together like birds in a nest. It was not quite big enough for four people, but they made space. At Utonium's request, Blossom read aloud to them from her history text as he prepared dinner. When she finished her chapter, Bubbles recited poems from her English book and then Buttercup asked them questions from a ridiculous quiz in the magazine she was reading. Utonium left them to care for their friend while he made some necessary phone calls. It was all very warm and cozy indoors, while outdoors the October day grew progressively darker and colder until it started to rain again. Dexter's mood reflected the weather, and slowly he lapsed into a dazed sort of reverie, staring silently at the drops sliding down the window and withdrawing further and further into himself, shrouded in misery despite their best efforts to console him.

****

OoOoOoOoOoOoO

"Aww, man!"

Two groans rose up and joined Buttercup's growl as the hotline from the Mayor's office beeped from the living room. Dropping her dessert fork, Buttercup grumbled, "I got it!" before stomping off to answer the call, muttering to herself about lousy timing and not being able to finish her pie. Moments later she rushed back.

"Bank heist, Shenanigan's Bank of Ireland, over on Fifth and Flag Street."

Blossom was already on her feet. "Professor, we'll patrol for a little while, too. Come on, girls!"

"See you later, Dexter," said Bubbles, jumping up and following her sisters. Utonium rose as well to watch them fly off into the stormy sky and to close the door behind them. A low rumble of thunder echoed through the night. When he returned to the dining room, Dexter was gazing up at him with eyes too old for a boy of eleven years.

"It must be very difficult to let them go," he said quietly. He winced as thunder sounded again.

Utonium sat down again and picked up his fork, glancing at the three empty seats and suddenly glad that he had company tonight. He had not thought of it before, but over the summer Dexter's presence in the house while the girls were out fighting crime or patrolling the city had been a great comfort to him. Up until this moment, he did not realize how completely he had missed this boy. If _they_ had all missed Dexter so much, what had the past two months been like for _him_?

"It is," Utonium admitted. "But it would be even more difficult to keep them here, knowing that they have the ability to act." He smiled. "I'm just glad they left through the door, not through the roof. I can't tell you how many times I've had it repaired."

At that Dexter smiled a little as well, and though the expression was short-lived, the Professor was glad to see it. He was not in the least surprised when soon afterwards Dexter began to nod off despite the early hour. He shooed the boy to go rest and by the time the dining room was clean, Dexter had dropped off to sleep on the couch in the living room, wrapped in the Professor's robe. As Utonium covered him with a blanket, he tossed a bit, muttering in his dreams. His sleep was neither sound nor easy, it seemed, and the low-grade fever lingered on.

The Professor jumped in surprise when the phone rang, and he hurried to the kitchen to answer it before the racket could rouse Dexter. He'd been waiting all day for this call, and he was so absorbed in speaking to the person on the other end of the line that he missed the first frightened cry. Finishing his lengthy conversation and sighing in satisfaction, Utonium glanced up, wondering what had changed, when a flash of lighting cast everything into shadows and a clap of thunder shook the house. A shout not far removed from a scream sent him running to the living room. He never made it so far. Dexter, terrified and tearful, stumbled into the hall. He looked up at Utonium with something like panic in his face, halting the man in his tracks.

"Dexter," he said in a quiet tone, afraid of alarming him further. "It's all right. I think you just had a nightmare. It's just a storm. It can't hurt you."

He flinched and looked heavenward as the storm rumbled again. Caught in the grip of raw fear, Dexter shook his head, his dreams still too real in his newly-wakened mind to be dismissed so easily and his old fear of thunder robbing him of reason.

Utonium approached slowly and placed his hands on Dexter's shoulders, steadying him. He could feel the boy quaking. "It's all right. You're safe. Was it a nightmare?"

He nodded, rubbing his temples. Without his glasses he looked so vulnerable. Utonium took advantage of the opening and pulled Dexter into his embrace, trying to soothe away his fears. As usual, Dexter gripped the front of Utonium's lab coat with both hands, making the older man wonder why the boy kept that physical barrier in place even though he plainly welcomed being held.

"Do you get them often?"

"N-no. Not for a long time," he finally managed, pulling back enough to look up at the Professor.

"Can you tell me what it was about? Would that help?"

He swallowed, wiping at his runny nose, dashing the tears from his eyes as he dropped his gaze. "Everyone that matters most . . . left me. No one - no one wanted me. Not DeeDee. Not the girls. N-not you," he finished in the faintest of whispers, refusing to look up and see the possible truth of his dream realized in the Professor's face.

Utonium waited, but that was the end of the list of who mattered the most to this child. Finally he lifted Dexter's chin with a gentle hand, looking the boy in the eye. "I would never do that to you, Dexter."

He sniffed, his chin trembling. "I was completely alone. I couldn't find you. Everyone left me behind."

"Even your parents?"

Dexter sighed, lowering his head, and so missed the look of sympathy on his friend's face. To his relief Utonium did not break physical contact with him, his big hands resting reassuringly on Dexter's shoulders. He could not maintain the defenses he had erected any longer. Recent events had eroded all his safeguards, leaving exposed his every vulnerability and apprehension, and in a dull tone he said,

"They've never really been there to leave me."

The Professor's grip tightened at this confession. Dexter looked up anxiously, almost desperate to explain and be understood, and the words just tumbled out so quickly he could not stop them.

"I'm at fault as much as my parents. I hid things from them – my lab, my inventions, my whole life, it seems. When they couldn't keep up with my intellect, I just used that to drive them further away so that I could carry on my research undisturbed. I was wrong to do that. I can't blame them for not believing me. Even when I tried to tell them everything, they still don't hear me. I tried so hard to please them, to make up for being what I am -"

_"Stop that!" _Utonium ordered fiercely, startling the boy into silence. Shocked blue eyes stared up at him. Realizing that he had almost shouted and that Dexter was already rattled, Utonium lowered his voice, though his words were as firm as his hold. "Not another word, Dexter! Do not_ ever_ be sorry for who and what you are. Your parents may not believe you, but they should believe _in_ you! You have _nothing_ to make up for. Not to your parents, not to me, no one! You are one of the single-most brilliant and gifted scientists on the planet. Don't _ever_ apologize for being what you were born."

Dexter gazed up at him, the oddest expression on his face. For a long span he was silent, studying the Professor. When he spoke, his words hit with all the force of a lighting bolt and devestated them both.

"They didn't want another child," he whispered. "I overheard them once. They thought I was too little to understand. They didn't realize I could read before I could walk and that I could comprehend speech long before I talked." Years of misery, of bitter understanding, of feeling unwanted and unloved, shone in Dexter's eyes. His voice dropped lower and lower as emotion gripped him tighter and tighter each passing moment. He had never spoken of this to anyone. There had never been anyone to tell. He could barely admit it to himself. "They thought there was something wrong with me because I didn't talk for so long. Not until I was three. No one knew that I was listening and learning. I heard and I remembered. I remember _everything_. I can't help it. Sometimes it's a curse. My parents were in agreement. They never wanted another child. Then they hoped for another girl. Then they got _me_." He looked up, his eyes bright with tears. "I was never _wanted_, Professor. Only by DeeDee."

Utonium stared in shock, his father's heart quailing in his breast. Not wanted? How could any parent _not _want so glorious a child? Even if this was not true to his parents, it was true to Dexter and this hideous knowledge had shaped every aspect of his life. So much was made clear, so many quirks and mannerisms and insecurities. How could they _do_ such a thing to their own son?

"I've told them everything and they refuse to believe. I keep trying and failing and I don't know what else to do." He shook his head, sniffing, his breath coming in hitches. "They just want their quiet lives. They can't have that with me, so they ignore everything I say or do that they can't understand."

"Oh – oh my – Dexter!" breathed Utonium, tripping over his own words as he was undone by the lonely grief he saw in those blue eyes. He seized Dexter to him, crushed the boy tight against him, trying to make up for eleven years of uncertainty and pain. He could not hold him enough, could not wrap him tightly enough in his arms, could not protect him well enough to spare him. Tears burned Utonium's eyes as small arms encircled his neck. A soft whine reached his ears, a sound of suffering and need that escaped Dexter's throat and he pressed his face into the Professor's shoulder. To have lived with this all these years! No wonder he built such walls between himself and his parents . . . and the world.

"Not only DeeDee," Utonium finally managed to gasp, his voice broken and hoarse. He would not, could not let him go. Not now, not ever. Dexter was trembling, sobs wracking his frame, and Utonium wrapped himself protectively around him. He pressed his lips to Dexter's hair and rubbed his back, slowly rocking as he tried to soothe this pain. Closing his eyes tightly against the tears that threatened to fall, he almost managed to keep his voice steady as he whsipered, "Not only DeeDee, Dexter. You're not alone. Not anymore."

****

OoOoOoOoOoOoO

"Professor?"

He woke with a start, blinking sleep from his eyes as he saw his daughters lined up before him, all of them dripping wet, all of them concerned at the highly unusual sight of their father sitting asleep in the hall between the potted palm and the kitchen. There had never before been an occasion when he had not been awake to greet them when they returned from patrolling the city. Utonium sucked in his breath, knowing he must look awful to them, but they had never looked more beautiful or precious to him than at this moment.

"Sorry you had to wake me up," he whispered, smiling to ease their worry. He gazed at each of them in turn, very aware of the sleeping form on his lap as he asked, "Do you know how completely I love each of you?"

The Powerpuff Girls exchanged startled looks, sensing they had missed something vital to both their father and their friend.

"Yeah, we know that," piped Bubbles. "And we love you back just as much."

"Good," he said. "No matter what, girls, I want you to know that you three are the most important things in the world to me. You always have been. You always will be."

"Is everything okay, Professor?" wondered Blossom, a little uneasily. They were very secure in their father's love, and she could not help but look at Dexter when she spoke.

He followed her gaze and gently laid his hand on Dexter's head, smoothing the red hair. "I hope so, honey."

Exhausted from crying, Dexter stirred and clutched at the Professor when he stood and carried the boy back to the living room. Bubbles and Buttercup had hastily spread bedding on the sofa and once Dexter was settled in and covered, the Professor sat down on the floor close by his head, whispering reassurances and making certain he went back to sleep.

"I think I'll just stay right here," he softly told his daughters as he gestured them up the stairs to their room. "He had a nightmare before and I don't want him to wake up alone."

Minutes later Buttercup appeared in her pyjamas and carrying an armload of sleeping bags. Bubbles and Blossom followed with pillows and extra blankets. Without a word they tucked their father in and kissed him good night before unrolling the sleeping bags and turning in. Utonium stayed awake until dawn, listening to the soft, deep breaths of the children, pondering the events of the weekend past and everything he knew about the sleeping boy beside him, and deciding on the best course of action to be taken.

A faint touch on his shoulder. Utonium shifted around. In the gray morning light he could see Dexter regarding him with sleepy blue eyes. Reaching out, he brushed his fingers across Dexter's pale cheek before resting his hand on the back of the boy's neck. There was no lingering sign of fever, fortunately.

"How do you feel?" whispered the Professor.

"Not so lost," was the equally quiet answer. "But I still don't know what to do."

"Do you trust me?"

He nodded, completely serious as he said, "More than anyone."

A warm glow filled Utonium at those three words, and he smiled. "Then, please, Dexter, trust me on this: everything will be all right. I promise you that." He leaned forward and pressed a kiss to Dexter's forehead. "Go back to sleep. I'm sure the girls will wake you when it's time for breakfast."


	20. No Place Like Home

**Invisible Sun**

**Chapter Twenty: No Place Like Home**

"Turn right," Dexter directed. "It's number twelve."

The Professor guided the car to the curb and parked it in front of the trim house. The girls looked with interest at his home, so different and traditional compared to their sleek, modern abode in Townsville. Utonium, however, looked not at the house but at his friend. Had Dexter been heading to his execution he could not have appeared more miserable and apprehensive.

"Dexter . . ."

"I . . . Professor, I truly don't want to be here," he stated, trying hard to keep his voice from wavering. He looked down at his hands, at the burn across his purple glove, not at the Professor.

"I know," Utonium said gently, "but give me a chance to talk to your parents. I told you everything would be all right."

"I don't see how it can be."

Utonium smiled a little, reaching over to lift Dexter's chin to face to him. "You're too close to the problem to see a way out. Trust me. Please."

He stared at the man, battling to control his fear and the sick feeling in his stomach. After a moment he nodded. His trust in the Professor was almost as absolute as his respect, and if he said it, then it was so.

"Come on."

The piled out of the car and into the cool autumn air. It was late in the afternoon, and the shadows were long as evening loomed. From across the street a girl's mocking voice rang out.

"Hey, Dorkster!"

Olga. Dexter sighed, disgusted and too worn out to be embarrassed by that old, hated nickname.

"Oh, my gosh! People actually hang out with you? How much do you pay th-"

Olga's shout was cut off by Buttercup shooting across the street lifting her clean off her feet with one hand. Over by the car, Utonium restrained Bubbles and Blossom.

"Girls! I'm sure Buttercup can handle this."

That he didn't try to stop the most aggressive of his daughters from roughing up Mandark's obnoxious sister was shocking to Dexter. He stared, astonished, as the remaining Powerpuff Girls looked up at their father with longing, pleading eyes.

"Professor!" whined Bubbles, itching to defend her friend. She pointed anxiously at the fracas across the street – the fracas she was missing out on.

"She might need backup!" insisted Blossom, ready to argue their case endlessly.

"Oh, all right," he agreed indulgently, releasing them. Instantly they streaked to Buttercup's side. He caught the glint in Dexter's eyes and shrugged. "Tell me you're not enjoying this."

For the first time in days, Dexter felt a glimmer of amusement. With a little sigh of satisfaction he clasped his hands behind his back and stood up straight and said, "I can't."

"Then kick back and let the heroes do what they do best."

"_What did you call my friend?"_ Buttercup demanded savagely, her teeth clenched and her green eyes flashing fire. "Did I hear you call him something other than his _name**,** _you little wench?"

Her hands started to glow with building energy, giving Olga's alarmed face a sickly green tint.

"I heard her say something very rude," Bubbles answered for her. Her fists were planted firmly on her hips and she was as mad as could be. "And I bet he never said anything mean about you!"

Olga let out a whine of terror, her feet dangling above the ground.

"I'm sure she wants to apologize to our good friend Dexter," reasoned Blossom. "And I'm sure she's never going to do it again and stop other people from being just as rude." She shifted, staring dangerously at the dark-haired girl in Buttercup's iron grip as she demanded, "Am I right?"

Olga nodded and whimpered.

"Was that supposed to be an answer?" Buttercup challenged, giving her a shake, and Olga burst into tears of pure terror.

"Lalava- wha! W-what are you doing to my sister?" squeaked a new voice.

They all turned to see a tall, skinny, dark-haired boy standing in the doorway of the house behind them. The three Powerpuff Girls turned and expanded their sphere of glaring to include him as well, seeing as how he claimed a relationship with Dexter's tormenter. Behind his thick glasses his eyes grew huge as he recognized the three girls on his front lawn. He looked across the street to where Dexter stood with Professor Utonium and his jaw dropped in shock.

"We're teaching her some manners," Blossom said. "She called Dexter something mean."

"Care for a lesson?" invited Buttercup with a wicked smile.

"You're the Powerpuff Girls," breathed Mandark, staggered.

"We know," Bubbles snapped, waiting for him to do something stupid so that they could include him in their wrath.

"He wasn't lying," whispered Mandark, realizing that if this fact was true, then the rest of Dexter's extraordinary claims probably were as well.

The girls exchanged confused looks.

"Dexter? Why would he?" queried Buttercup. She dropped Olga down, slamming her feet to the ground hard enough to jolt her spine. "Ready to apologize?"

Another whine, another nod, and Mandark tagged along as his sister was dragged across the street to stand before Dexter. Disheveled and afraid, Olga managed to stammer something akin to an apology, followed by a promise not to call him names ever again. Buttercup was all for extracting some chores and lawn work out of her, but a warning look from her father silenced her. The moment she was free, Olga fled in tears back to her own house and slammed the door, leaving behind a bemused boy genius, three satisfied super heroes, a faintly guilty geneticist, and a wildly curious and jealous arch rival.

Mandark stared at Dexter for a moment, wondering if his solution had worked. Not entirely, it seemed, but the presence of the Powerpuff Girls – _the Powerpuff Girls!_ – was reassuring that his foremost adversary would be back to normal and they could resume their grudge match and normal business of one-upmanship. He hoped. Mandark was rather bored without someone around that could appreciate (and grasp) his humor.

Utonium gave his friend a nudge. "Dexter?"

At the gentle prompting, the younger boy did what was proper. "Professor Utonium, allow me to introduce . . ." He glanced at Mandark, wondering at this odd show of concern and his presence now that Olga had left. With a name he could completely undo his rival, but he found he had no wish to humiliate him as he himself had just been humiliated.

"Mandark," he finished diplomatically, much to the other boy's relief. "This is Blossom, Bubbles, and Buttercup. Mandark and I are . . . in class together."

"I've heard your name mentioned a few times over the summer," said Utonium pleasantly, shaking Mandark's hand.

Mandark cast Dexter a glare. "It was nothing good, I trust. It's an honor to meet you, Professor," Mandark said with all sincerity. Utonium's name was one of the best known in the field of genetics, a man who could (and did) write his own ticket when it came to research. He looked at the row of pretty girls and, ignoring Dexter's existence, said, "Ladies. I apologize that my sister caused you any trouble."

"Nothing we couldn't handle in our sleep," muttered Buttercup, her glare never faltering.

"Dexter! Dexter!"

They all turned as the front door opened and DeeDee spilled out, tall and blond and lovely to see. She rushed down the few steps and tackled her little brother, crushing him in an enthusiastic hug and knocking his glasses askew. He endured her attentions for a little while, and then struggled to extract himself from her clutches. She smiled at his efforts, refusing to release him despite his repeated commands of, "DeeDee, unhand me!" Finally she held him at arm's length to get a good view of him.

"You look a little better," she softly said, glancing at Mandark. The gratitude in her eyes riveted him to his spot.

Dexter quirked a little smile at her as he fixed his glasses and he quickly made a second round of introductions. The three young girls warmed to DeeDee immediately, given that they could tell her concern for her brother was vivacious and sincere.

"Mom and Dad are inside," DeeDee said, watching him closely. Dexter immediately tensed, but Utonium put his hand on the boy's shoulder.

"Good. Let's go in. Very nice to meet you, Mandark."

DeeDee paused to mouth a quick _Thank you _to Mandark and brush her lips on his cheek in the swiftest of kisses before she followed them inside. Mandark stood gaping like a fish for a good ten minutes before he regained the capacity for independent movement and somehow made it to his own front door. Two kisses in less than a week. The forces of darkness were smiling upon him.

**OoOoOoOoOoOoO**

**  
**"Dexter! Are you all right?"

He gazed up at his mother and had absolutely no idea how to answer her question. Her welcoming smile faded when he took so long to respond, and concern filled her face when he finally shook his head in the negative. She crouched down to look him in the eyes, taking in the strained expression and his set jaw. For the first time she noticed his pallor and the fatigue in his blue eyes. He would stubbornly deny both, she believed, so she said nothing and thereby lost yet another chance to connect with her youngest child.

"Honey?"

"Dexter?" asked his father, watching this interaction with equal disquiet. He fidgeted with his glasses and nervously glanced at the tall man and three girls filing into the house behind his son.

"Mom, Dad, this is my friend Professor Utonium," Dexter said. "He's the person who helped me obtain the patent for the null-void laser. These are his daughters Buttercup, Blossom, and Bubbles. They're also known as the Powerpuff Girls."

His parents gaped, recognizing the name of the superhero trio.

"You said they were a video game," breathed his father, staring.

"No, Dad," Dexter corrected dully, "_you_ did that."

His mother looked between Utonium and her son, stunned. "Powerpuff Girls? But aren't you from Townsville?"

Utonium glanced at Dexter, knowing his defenses were fully engaged, and at his daughters, who were slowly beginning to comprehend the nature of this conflict. "Yes," he replied, knowing full well what the upshot of this revelation would be.

She looked at Dexter with delayed alarm. "Townsville? You've been going to _Townsville _all summer long?"

"With your permission," Dexter said in clipped tones.

"You never told us!" she exclaimed, trying not to grow furious after the fact.

There was smoldering anger in his expression as Dexter said, "You never asked."

That shut them up. He was absolutely right. He always was.

"I wish you had told us."

He stared at her in disbelief. "Why?" he asked. "You never cared about anything else I've done."

The words hurt, but they also revealed the depth of his hurt and the lack of interest both parents took in his life. The moment that followed was awkward in the extreme for everyone but Dexter, who found strength in his self-righteousness. Utonium broke the tension by stepping forward. He rested his hands on Dexter's shoulders before turning to DeeDee.

"Can I ask you to entertain my daughters for a little while, DeeDee? Your brother and I need to speak to your parents."

"Sure," the blonde agreed easily. "Come on, I'll show you my room."

"Professor?" asked Blossom uncertainly.

"It all right, Blossom. Go with DeeDee."

Reluctantly, with many a worried glance back, they followed the older girl up the stairs.

"Can we sit?" asked Utonium.

Seated at the kitchen table, they made for an odd group. Utonium was glad for the chance to study Dexter's parents. Clearly he favored his mother, with his small build, red hair, and penchant for wearing gloves. He had been right in his assessment of them – bland, well-meaning, perfectly average people trying to raise an extraordinary child and finding themselves grossly outclassed by his brilliance.

"You told us you met a friend while we were in Portland," his father began.

"I did." Wearily, Dexter gestured at Utonium.

"You went to Townsville while we were in Oregon?"

Dexter sighed, tired of repeating himself, but it was par for the course where his parents were concerned. "Dad, I told you that if the robotics specialist in Townsville would consent to see me and allow me to consult him, I would be going there. You laughed at the notion and said nothing. He agreed. I went. He invited me back. You let me go."

"I thought you were talking about someone your own age, not mine." He gave Utonium a suspicious look that fell rather flat when the other man ignored it.

Dexter glared across the expanse of the table. "Exactly how many eleven-year-old robotics specialists do you know of besides me?"

Predictable to the last, his father made no reply.

**OoOoOoOoOoOoO**

**  
**"Come on," DeeDee said not a minute after bringing the girls to her room.

"Where are we going?" wondered Bubbles, pulling herself away from admiring DeeDee's vast collection of Pony Puff Princess figurines.

"I want to hear what they're saying," DeeDee answered.

Buttercup smirked and nodded. "Now you're talking."

Blossom looked uncomfortable at the suggestion they should eavesdrop. "But . . ."

For all she was dressed in a tutu and ballerina slippers and seemed as silly and empty-headed as it was possible to be, there was steel in DeeDee's spine when it came to the person she loved best. "That's my only brother and he's been upset for ages. I want to know every reason why. You can come with me or stay here, Blossom, but I'm going."

Buttercup gave her sisters a stern look. "That's our only brother, too. I'm with DeeDee." She was already moving for the door. "I'll fly you down so there's no noise."

"Wait!" begged Blossom.

"The Professor told us to go with DeeDee," reasoned Buttercup coolly, not about to let her sister's goody-two-shoes misgivings sway her. "If she's going downstairs, we should go too."

"Okay," said Bubbles, happily buying into her sister's logic. She went straight out the door and then looked back over her shoulder. "Coming?"


	21. Double Standards

**Invisible Sun**

**Chapter Twenty-One: Double Standards**

"Dexter, you have the habit of saying just enough about a thing to get your way," his mother sighed softly.

"So does DeeDee! We learned it from Dad." He gestured at his father and shook his head, quietly amazed that this was an issue only _now_. "You never ask further. I tell you something and you accept it. You and Dad don't dig any deeper than the surface of anything I say, so what am I to think except you don't care? I don't tell you more because I know if I do, you won't listen to me anyway or misunderstand and not allow me a chance to explain before you pass judgment."

His father folded his arms, on the defensive. "You don't listen very well either, young man."

"You don't listen at all!" Dexter shot back, rising out of his seat. He was enraged as never before.

"Dexter-"

"Can you even tell me what I just said?" demanded Dexter, not caring that he interrupted his father or raised his voice. "You didn't see when I showed you my laboratory! You don't hear me when I tell you about my work. You haven't listened to me all summer! I've told you everything I've done and what's happened to me and you haven't heard a thing I've said. I asked you for help Friday night and you _laughed_ at me!" His gloved fist struck the tabletop as he gave full vent to his fury. "You laughed, Dad, and you ignored me and you said it was a joke! You never listened! You never cared! You only _want _me when it's convenient to have a genius for a son. Other than that I may as well not exist for you!"

His father gaped, shocked at his vehemence, shocked that his son saw through him so completely, shocked at himself and his own conduct as he realized he had indeed laughed and dismissed a plea for help. At the time, it had seemed too fantastic to be believed. There was a hint of fear in his eyes, too, at Dexter's choice of words, a lingering guilt and anxiety over what his son might know or have guessed over the years.

"It just . . . seemed so impossible," he stammered.

_"__WHY?__"_ demanded Dexter furiously. "Why is _anything_ impossible? You've seen what I've done and what I can do! Or you would have seen if you opened your eyes! I don't recognize the impossible!"

"Dexter," Utonium said quietly, silencing the boy's anger with a word. The other adults stared in surprise at their son's reaction. They had never seen that red-hot temper quelled so easily or so completely. For his part, Utonium was quietly thrilled to see the boy so impassioned again, even if all he felt was anger. It was better - and more productive - than brooding depression.

"Please sit," asked the Professor, reaching his hand out to the boy to soothe him.

Slowly, with a show of reluctance, Dexter obeyed.

"Thank you." He turned to Dexter's parents, trying desperately hard to ease the tension and contain the emotions running so high, especially in his friend. Dexter was exhausted and on edge and for the first time Utonium got a glimpse of the high-strung boy genius on the defensive. Knowing Dexter as he did and knowing what kind of weapons the boy harbored, Utonium was well aware that an attack must soon follow and he feared the assault would be the equivalent of unleashing a full nuclear arsenal. That might be satisfying for Dexter, but it would not solve anything.

"If I may," Utonium began, deliberately speaking in a low, slow tone. "I think there's been a terrible breakdown in communications. Dexter came to my house Friday night in an extreme state of distress and fatigue. I suspect this has been building for a while." He looked at Dexter for confirmation and the boy nodded, shielding his eyes as he leaned into his hand. "The occasions when we've talked, I always gotten the feeling you were under a lot of strain. It wasn't just school?"

"No," said Dexter, grateful for his understanding. "You know the situation with my finances and . . ." He left the thought unfinished, waving his gloved hand to encompass all the rest of his troubles.

"You said classes were going well," his mother said.

"The AP classes are going very well," Dexter replied.

"Dexter, you're evading the question," Utonium admonished in the gentlest of voices. "What about the rest of your classes? You told me you kept getting detention for not paying attention."

He sighed. "My other classes are so simple and boring I can't pay attention, Professor. If I work on something else the teachers get angry even when I finish the class work. I can't get them to understand that I _know_ what they're talking about. Better than they do in most cases," he muttered. "I don't know if they feel threatened or intimidated, but they seem to resent me and are determined to force me to conform and be as average as the rest of the pupils. I refuse."

"You're not being challenged, in other words."

"Not by fifth grade."

"Fifth grade may not be where you belong." He looked to the other adults at the table. "Elementary school may not be the best setting for your son."

"We sent him to college when he was eight," his father volunteered.

"_That_ was a disaster," Dexter sullenly provided.

The Professor shook his head. "College may not be the thing, either. School may not be the thing. At least not right now."

"He's got to finish his education," insisted his mother.

"Yes, and as his parents, it falls to you to decide what exactly what would be best for him. I question what sort of education he's gaining at the moment, seeing as how he's at odds with the very people he's supposed to be able to trust the most, and who should have his best interests in mind."

Not even they could miss the pointed look that accompanied this criticism.

"You do need the social skills," Mom said. She gave him an apologetic look. "I'm sorry, honey, but you don't get along well with others."

"Why is it always _my_ fault?" Dexter countered hotly. "How come _they_ don't ever have to get along with _me?_ Why am I always the misfit? I don't bully and I don't tease, but I'm expected at all times and by everybody to rise above the abuse I receive and find a means of getting along and I'm always to blame when we don't. Just because I'm smarter. I'm still eleven! The Professor is the only person in my life who seems to remember that and I manage to get along perfectly well in his household." He glanced at his father. "Dad always told me to stand up to bullies. Well I have, but this year's bullies happen to be my teachers. Please, Mom, tell me _exactly_ what social skills I'm supposed to be gaining from this experience. I'm very curious."

"Your teachers?" His mother frowned, her voice betraying her confusion and disbelief. "But . . . they wouldn't."

He stared at her, thunderstruck by the sheer lame, stupidity of this statement. "Then I deserve to have detention three times a week at least? Because that's exactly what's been happening if you haven't noticed."

Even his parents saw the injustice of so much punishment, and they exchanged a concerned look.

"What did you do?" wondered his father in a voice calculated to lighten the mood. It was a dismal failure.

Dexter gave him a look of pure disgust. "I breathed, Dad. Did you not just hear yourself? Why am I to blame? Why don't you ask what happened as opposed to what I did wrong? Why am I always accused?"

"You never said anything!" his mother exclaimed.

"And again, it's my fault. _You_ never asked why I was late all the time!"

She lowered her gaze with a sad little sigh. "You're right. I haven't. But you could have tired."

He stared at her. "I'm tired of trying. Why does it always have to come from me? Why doesn't anyone else here ever _try_?" He pointed at the dark-haired man beside him. "Professor Utonium is the only one besides DeeDee that ever took my side in anything. He's the only one that ever _saw _my side. You actually wonder _why_ I didn't tell you more." He shook his head, dumbfounded that these were his parents. "The more I explain the less you want to understand. He offers help whereas here I have to beg for it!"

His father pursed his lips, defensive under such a blistering assault. "Dex-"

"He's right!"

They all turned at the unexpected voice. DeeDee stood in the doorway of the kitchen, and they realized she must have been there for some time. She was not prone to displays of strong emotion - being far more inclined toward levity than gravity - but right now she was angry and it showed in her face and body language. Behind her, tense and intense, ranged the three Powerpuff Girls. It was plain that they had heard the whole, heated exchange. Their arms were folded defensively and they were all glowering to hear someone they considered family being criticized.

"Dexter always has to fight for the things you do for me or let me do," DeeDee said. "You let me do what I want, but you always make Dexter do things that you _want_. It's not fair. He was all excited about getting the patent last week and you don't even know what it was for! He's never been happier in his whole life than this past summer, and he's never been more miserable since he started school and you don't even see it! Neither of you."

She stepped over to her brother and leaned over his chair to hug him from behind. Dexter allowed her embrace without protest, leaning back into the hold of the person who had loved him best and longest. They were nothing alike. They had almost nothing in common. They drove one another out of their minds. But their devotion was absolute, and their love for each other was without question.

Dexter reached up and covered her hands with his, and that simple gesture spoke volumes to the young girl. Rarely did he initiate touch even with her, but when he did it was a sign of his desperate need for comfort. Utonium saw it, and instantly he was grateful that DeeDee had been listening.

DeeDee looked at her parents as if she had never seen them before, a frown creasing her brow as she came to an understanding of what was happening, of what _had _been happening for her brother's lifetime. Always the favorite, always the princess and the golden child, she had never really given their conduct much thought until this moment. In truth she rarely gave anything much thought unless forced to, but she did have her own brand of common sense and it could not be denied that she cared very deeply for her brother and would defend him to the last.

"He's right," she repeated, shocked. "Dexter's right. You don't see him except when you want to. You've never really seen him, have you? Even when he was a baby, I was the one always watching him and reading to him and you didn't even come to his first day of school, Mom. _I_ took him." She looked between her mother and father, anxious to be proven wrong. "You reward me for good grades, but you just expect them out of Dexter. You let me stay up late when I was his age now, but you won't let him do the same thing. It's not fair. It's . . . it's almost like you didn't _want_ another kid."

Gently, Dexter loosened her hands as he stood. He looked up at his sister with a sad little smile and quietly said,

"They didn't."

She gasped, her blue eyes opening wide, and she reached for him with both hands. "Dexter!" Out in the hall, the three young girls exchanged appalled glances, unable to understand how anyone could _not_ want a person as witty and talented and smart as their Dexter.

"It's all right, DeeDee," he promised her with dignity and poise far beyond his years. His was a strange serenity born of pain and acceptance. He looked at the three pretty and indignant girls in the hall, each of them ready to spring into action on his behalf, each of them his sister, then at the dark-haired scientist that had forced his way past every barrier he had so carefully erected and who had wept for him and with him, and finally back to his tall and lovely sister that adored him so. "It's all right. I know where I am wanted, and by whom."

And without so much as a glance at his crushed and speechless parents, he turned and walked away, stepping through the back door to the darkness beyond.


	22. When the Whole Day's Done

**Invisible Sun**

**Chapter Twenty-Two: When the Whole Day's Done**

**  
**"Professor Utonium?"

Hand raised to open the back door, Utonium paused as Dexter's father followed him to the kitchen. At his anxious expression the Professor felt something akin to sympathy for the man. For this father there was nothing simple or easy about this situation, whereas to Utonium's mind the answers could not be simpler or more obvious . . . but then, he could not imagine asking his daughters to be anything more or less than what they were.

"How . . ." He hesitated, uncertain of what he wanted to ask. "I hardly know how to talk to him."

"You have to keep trying. Appreciate him for what he is, not what you want him to be."

Shoulders slumped, he ran a hand through his blond hair. "It's like we speak two different languages in this house."

_That might explain the accent_, Utonium mused to himself. Aloud he said, "You do, but if you listen closely enough I think you'll start catching on. Dexter's done everything he knows how to reach out. What happens next has to come from you. You're his father. He needs you. You don't have to understand everything he says and does, but he does need to know that he's loved . . . and wanted."

The words hit home. Dexter's father averted his gaze, looking away.

"He's _always_ known," whispered Utonium.

"What?" His head jerked up and he stared at the Professor with eyes full of guilt.

Shaking his head in undisguised disgust, he said, "Dexter understood what you said about him. He's lived with that since he was three years old. He knows you resent him. I don't know what your situation was when he was born, but don't hold him responsible for your disappointment. You'll lose him otherwise. You've as good as lost him now."

"I've tried," the other man breathed. "So many times I've . . . I just . . . can't . . ." His whole, lean frame drooped. "We couldn't afford another baby. My wife was so sick with him, we weren't sure she'd make it. And then . . . he was like nothing we expected . . . or wanted." He held his aching head. His regret was genuine, but Utonium could not help but wonder what it was he regretted – saying such things about his son, or his son. "I wish to God I could stand here and say I didn't mean it back then."

Utonium's expression was hard and his words were almost harsh. Rarely in his life had he so wanted to knock sense into another human being. "_Then_ doesn't matter as much as _now_. After eleven years – you still mean it, don't you?"

Caught by his own words, completely unprepared for such a confrontation, the blond turned away, ashamed. The truth he thought he had buried long ago had been staring him in the face for years, and he had chosen to ignore it and his son because it had seemed the easy way out. He was doing a very poor job of accepting his own failings as a person and as a father, let alone considering the misery he had caused an innocent child.

"You're a fool." Utonium almost wanted to laugh at him. Small wonder Dexter rode roughshod over this man. "You know, six years ago I set out to make one perfect little girl and I ended up with three instead. I can barely remember what life was like before them, and I can't imagine life without them now. It seems you've never tried to imagine life _with_ Dexter. Have you even _tried_ to accept the fact that you have a son? Forget that he's a genius. Just look at him and see what a wonderful child you have and that you don't deserve in the least. Don't waste this chance. It's probably your last one."

**OoOoOoOoOoOoO**

**  
**Dexter did not look up as the Professor joined him on the steps of the deck. With a faint sigh the man sat close beside him, stretching out his long legs and gazing at Dexter as the boy stared into the bleak and empty garden.

"DeeDee's showing the girls your lab. I hope you don't mind, but they needed the distraction."

With a shrug he muttered, "Just so long as nothing explodes."

"You'll have to show it to me before I leave. I'd like to see the null-void prototype."

"Of course."

They fell silent, listening to the night.

"You shouldn't be out here without a coat," the Professor finally said when Dexter sniffed. Digging in his pocket, he produced a folded, much-needed handkerchief and handed it over. "It's cold."

Dexter shook his head, leaning his chin on his arms. "_I'm_ cold."

"Maybe right now," Utonium said, understanding his meaning, "but that's not the way you're meant to be."

He blinked. "What does that mean?"

"It means you've got to rekindle that spark that drove you and get back to what matters most."

"Nothing matters anymore," he mumbled, dropping his gaze and letting himself sag. He wiped his eyes and nose with the handkerchief, glad for something to occupy his hands, glad he could blame his tears and runny nose on the cold air.

"Really? What about DeeDee? What about my girls?"

Caught, Dexter actually smiled a little.

"Do I matter?" wondered Utonium, completely serious.

Softly, Dexter said, "You matter more than anyone, Professor. You all mean a great deal to me."

"Why?"

"You believed in me."

"We still do."

"Why?"

"Because you're going to change the world, young man."

Dexter finally looked at him with an expression that could only be described as browbeaten, and he begged, _"How?" _

_  
_Utonium smiled and laid his hand on Dexter's shoulder, leaning in close to whisper, "By being who you are: Dexter, Boy Genius."

He grimaced, dropping his gaze, and twisted the handkerchief in his hands. "That sounds so arrogant."

"No," argued Utonium, "it sounds like the truth. It's what you are, and a little arrogance never hurt anybody. We don't begrudge my girls being super heroes. Why should you deny the fact that you're a genius? You're smarter than I am. Why hide it?"

"No, I'm not!" he protested.

"Yes, you are."

"I can't be!"

"Why not?" asked Utonium, imitating his accent. He chuckled at Dexter's scandalized shock.

"I . . . because. I don't know. I'm not smarter than you are, Professor!"

Utonium smiled. "I said smarter, not wiser. I'm better at applying the lessons I've learned. I'm a lot older than you and I've learned a lot more lessons. You'll get to where I am some day."

Dexter raised his eyes to his fellow scientist. "Where you ever where _I_ am?"

"Yes, or close enough to it."

"What did you do?"

"I looked for help."

He sniffed again, as much at the chilly air as at the threat of tears. "Did it come?" he asked in a hushed tone.

"Yes," Utonium replied. "And it wasn't from where I expected it, either."

"If I may, Professor - who helped you?"

The memory pulled a smile to his lips. "My brother."

"The one you said was captain of the high school football team?"

"And he acted like he was. Yes, that brother. He surprised me. I underestimated him, but he came through for me when I needed him. He reminded me what I did best, and why. Of course he also played linebacker, so you can imagine how gentle he was in his persuasion."

Being completely ignorant of football, he accepted the statement at face value and a little hum of agreement. Dexter shivered but was unwilling to abandon their conversation for the sake of getting out of the cold autumn air. "You must love him very much."

"I do. As much as you love DeeDee. What's more, I like him, too."

That generated a confused, interested look that served to distract Dexter from his misery. With a smile Utonium leaned his chin on his hand and said,

"It's easy to love, Dexter. It's instinctive and natural. Now _liking _somebody is a lot harder. There's more of a choice involved, so you can be more selective. When you know someone well and you like them anyway, then you've got something special - you've got a friend." He bent close to look the boy in the eye. "And before you ask, yes, I like you as much as I love you. You're a good friend and son and brother, Dexter, and a very good person."

By way of answering, Dexter slid a little closer to him. "Am I?"

Utonium put his arm around those narrow shoulders and pulled the boy against his side. "Yes. Better than you give yourself credit for being. I'm so glad to know you. We all always look forward to seeing you. I can't tell you how much I wish I could say 'yes' to Bubbles every time she asks if we can keep you."

"You could," Dexter whispered, leaning against the Professor and drinking in the security and comfort his mere presence offered. "I would stay."

He pressed a kiss atop Dexter's red hair and held him tighter. "I know."

"Me, too." A small, purple-clad hand reached over and gripped the sleeve of Utonium's lab coat. Dexter did not look up as he quietly said, "My parents . . . don't _like_ me. I know they _love_ me . . . or Mom does, but I'm nothing they can understand."

There was no possible argument that would not be a lie to so forthright a statement. Utonium looked down, expecting something dramatic, but realizing the simple truth seemed to bring a sense of relief to the tired boy. It was as if Dexter had finally found the answer to a question that had eluded him for years, and in the answer he found the basis for empathy and absolution. As the evening deepened they sat in silence, chilled by the crisp autumn air but each of them warmed by the other's presence and regard. Utonium watched his friend as he considered this new approach to defining relationships. Dexter's thought process was, for once, completely unguarded as he came to a conclusion, and a first spark of wisdom lit his eyes.

"Professor?"

"Yes?"

He actually let out a little huff of a laugh. "I don't like them either."

Utonium smiled gently. "They're not intentionally bad people."

"Agreed. But they haven't really been good parents to me."

"Agreed," Utonium replied with bittersweet understanding. "I'm glad you see the difference."

There seemed to be less loss in this revelation than expected – by his own admittance Dexter's parents had never been a large part of his life. The truth of the matter had been revealed and Dexter realized it was a fact he had known all along, just never acknowledged. The Professor gazed fondly down at the boy beside him, finding joy in Dexter's youth and the peace he was slowly discovering within himself and that wonderful, improbable, charming Russian accent.

"I'll probably be sad later," said Dexter philosophically, thinking out loud. "Right now, though, I'm . . . I'm . . ."

"Content?" suggested Utonium.

"Mmm," he concurred. "Am I wrong to feel this way?"

"No. You're being honest with yourself. Your parents laid the foundation for this situation, Dexter. They left you to deal with it on your own. All things considered, you've done a darned good job of growing up without their help."

He nodded, still leaning heavily against the man. "Professor?"

"Yes?"

"You said that fifth grade may not be the best thing for me right now. I think you're right, but . . . I don't know what else to do. I've never not been a student."

"Neither have I. I'm still learning. Tell me, what would make you happiest to do right now?"

He considered for a few moments, then said, "I want to perfect the neo-neuroatomic proto-core and work on the Megabot 3000. I need to work on the Mark II null-void; I want to make a smaller, pistol version of it. And I was thinking about accoustics the other day when DeeDee was blasting her stereo and I was trying to come up with a means of concentrating sound into a penetrating beam like a laser, not as a weapon but more along the lines of a means to remove paint and rust over large surfaces like ships. And can you suggest any books on aeronautic engineering? I had an idea for a type of airship that was a hybrid of jet and rocket . . ."

He trailed off as he noticed Utonium was grinning at him, and he realized that his friend had managed to draw him out and get him talking about science again. And not just talking - he was gushing.

"I think," Utonium said kindly, "that you need to be doing all those things."

"I do. I will," he promised quietly. "Thank you. For being my friend, I mean. I've never had better. Not even DeeDee or Douglas."

His curiosity aroused, Utonium wondered, "Who is Douglas?"

"Douglas Mordecai. A friend. _My_ friend. From back in third grade. He moved away, but . . . I think I should contact him again."

"Yes, you probably should. If you miss him then he probably misses you, too." He crushed the boy close to his side in a one-armed hug. "And the pleasure has been all mine, Dexter."

**  
OoOoOoOoOoOoO **

Not much later Dexter's mother came out onto the porch. She sat down on the step next to her son and after a few minutes of silence - a silence she did not know how to break in order to reach out - she quietly said, "It's cold. You boys should both come inside and get warm."

"Yes, Mom," Dexter replied.

She tried to smile, but in light of her failure to be a mother to her son, she could not quite manage anything that looked genuine. Finally she just said, "I'll drive you and DeeDee to school tomorrow, honey, so you can sleep in a little. I'm going to have a talk with Principal Newton and your teachers."

"Thank you," he said, meaning it, and his voice held a note of maturity that had been absent before. She heard the change in his voice and his attitude and wondered at it and him, but she said nothing as she rose.

"Don't be long. You don't want to catch cold."

A few minutes more passed. Finally Utonium stirred, pushing himself to his feet.

"She's right." He turned and offered his hand to his companion, heaving him upright. "It's cold out here."

"Maybe," said Dexter, dusting himself off, "but I'm not. Not anymore."

Utonium smiled, and he was thrilled to the core when Dexter smiled back at him. He pulled the boy in close, embracing him tightly. A ripple of amusement went through him as Dexter's hands clutched the front of his lab coat in his own, strange, defensive version of a hug. Utonium did not care in the least. He knew the sentiment behind the gesture, and he knew that Dexter had found his center again.

"I have to thank you, Dexter."

"What for?"

"For being you. For being my friend. For being a brother to my girls."

Blue eyes gazed up at him with a mixture of affection and hope. "If I'm their brother, then that would make you my father."

"Of a sort." He quirked a little smile, as hopeful as Dexter. "If you'll have me."

A moment later the tall man let out an 'oof!' of surprise as he was seized around the middle in a powerful and enthusiastic hug. Utonium grinned down at him, smoothing back Dexter's hair. That Russian lilt had never sounded sweeter to his ears as Dexter promised,

"I'll never let you go."

He held him back just as strongly, glorying in the brightness and warmth and love this remarkable child brought.

"Me either," he swore. "C'mon," he said, hooking his arm around Dexter's neck. "There's one more thing we need to discuss and then it's bedtime, Boy Genius. It's still a school night."

Dexter laughed for the first time in days, and let himself be hauled away.

**OoOoOoOoOoOoO**

They gathered at the kitchen table again. Dexter's mother looked concerned, his father looked hangdog, while their son remained aloof and ignored the anxious glances his father cast him. Utonium recognized Dexter's hastily erected defenses while at the same time he saw the boy adopt a bemused, detached air - he had the look of someone that had just learned a marvelous secret. Anyone else would have called the young genius arrogant and assured, but the Professor knew that Dexter was simply insulating himself from the guilt and unease being radiated by his parents. The family dynamics were about to undergo a dramatic shift and the status quo would never recover – for the first time, Dexter would abide by the rules and distance his parents had established. He had given up the fight for their affection and his energies would be consumed elsewhere, and he was so far beyond them that they would never catch up. His mother had already proven herself more adaptable to the change, while Utonium seriously doubted Dexter's father would ever fully grasp that his son was finally treating him with the deference (and disdain) due to him.

"There's something you should know, Dexter," the Professor said as he sat down. "I had a very long conversation with General Shaan last night."

"Who is that?" demanded Dexter's father in an alarmed squawk.

Dexter groaned in anticipation of trouble he simply was not ready to deal with at the moment. Utonium smiled at his reaction and said, "The general is an acquaintance of your son's. He represents the United States Army and he's _very_ interested in the weapon Dexter has created, the null-void laser."

"What did he say?" Dexter asked softly, bracing himself for the worst.

"He wants a demonstration of the prototype and if he likes what he sees, he'll issue an order for fifty guns, possibly more, and he wants details and specs on the Mark II."

Dexter's purple-gloved hand dropped limply to the table. He stared at Professor Utonium in speechless shock and finally exclaimed, "I haven't got the means to make one null-void, let alone fifty!"

"Picatinny Arsenal does."

Dexter shook his head. "No," he said with finality. "I did some research and I would lose direct control of the product by going through with the Picatinny offer. The patent is _mine_. I won't lose it. I'll find another means of affording research into neo-neurotomics."

"Pica- what?" wondered his mother. "Dexter, what are you two talking about? What's this arsenal? And making weapons?"

"Mom, haven't you noticed I keep getting mail from government offices?" Dexter asked. "I told you the patent I received was for a weapon. The Army is interested in it and a military contractor at Picatinny Arsenal in New Jersy has offered to buy the patent." He focused on Utonium. "I will make them or they won't get made, Professor."

His fellow scientist smiled warmly. "I'm glad you came to a decision. I'm also glad that was the one you came to, because that's pretty much what I told Shaan. I think he was actually glad to hear it."

Dexter sighed, weary beyond telling. "Which brings us back to my original problem: funding."

His father flinched the least bit, painfully aware of his own deficiencies in that respect. Dexter ignored the reaction and the man and gave his attention to his friend.

"Which brings us to a solution as well," the Professor replied.

"Professor, I can't get that kind of money."

"Maybe not, but I can."

Dexter gaped in astonishment. _"What?"_

Utonium gazed at him unflinchingly, completely serious as he said, "I will finance the first generation of null-void lasers, Dexter. There's not the least doubt in my mind you'll be a success. If you'll let me, I would very much like to have a hand in that success."

"But . . ."

"How much do you need?"

"Forty thousand dollars," he replied faintly, hardly able to believe his ears.

Utonium blinked. He was well aware of production and legal costs. Dexter must have sheered the price down to almost nothing. "Is that _all_?"

"That's the minimum, to make twenty guns."

"Shaan will want fifty laser guns at least."

"If he'll pay me for twenty working null-voids, then I'll be able to produce all fifty."

"If he wants fifty, give him fifty. Will eighty thousand do it?" Utonium asked in complete seriousness.

He barely nodded, stunned at the offer. It was as if a tremendous burden had been lifted off his narrow shoulders. Suddenly he could breathe again, and a giddy lightness filled him. It almost felt like flying.

"A hundred thousand would be better. Just in case you run into problems."

"That would . . . y-yes." He gave himself a little shake, yanking his mind back from set-up and equipment costs. "That . . . that would do very nicely, sir."

"You'll have it tomorrow, Tuesday at the latest. Congratulations. You're in business."

"Professor . . . I -"

"Hold on!"

They both looked at Dexter's father, who had finally found his voice. He had the look of a man that was completely flummoxed.

"A hundred thousand dollars? You're just going to up and _give_ him a hundred thousand dollars?" he sputtered.

"No," Dexter replied. "Not _give,_ Dad. It's a business loan." He looked at Utonium. "You'll be repaid within two years, Professor, three at the most. I promise you."

"Or not," Utonium said softly. He already had his reward in seeing his friend's enthusiasm renewed.

"You can't just up and give him a hundred thousand dollars!" insisted the blond. He seemed fixated on the amount.

Utonium tilted his head, curious and amused at the echo in the room. "Why not?"

"He's ten!"

"I'm _eleven_," growled Dexter, turning a savage glare on the man.

"Whatever! It doesn't matter! He's a minor! He can't sign a contract with anyone, US Army or no!"

"Good point, Dad. Thanks," agreed Dexter, warming up to the discussion. "Professor?"

"Yes?"

"Since I _am_ a minor, I would like to hire you as the president of my company. You'll be responsible for reviewing and signing contracts and all that grown-up stuff I can't do yet."

"You have a business plan worked out?"

"Of course."

"Detailed?"

"Highly. I'll send you a copy."

"Fair enough. I can do stuff. What's the salary?"

"A dollar a year until I can afford to pay you."

"Fair enough. When do I start?"

"You just did."

"You still owe me a dollar."

"Fine. Now I owe you two," he said, and the scientists exchanged happy, excited grins.

"Wait! Wait! This is too fantastic," his mother protested. She stared at her son. "Dexter, honey, you're moving at the speed of light."

"Yes!" He gazed at her, glad she was finally catching on. Maybe someday she might even begin to understand him. "That's how I think."

"This is happening too fast!"

A smile lit Dexter's face, the first genuine smile she had seen from him since summer had ended.

"Not for me, Mom." He turned to Utonium, his eyes blazing with love and gratitude for this wonderful man whose faith had restored his own and who had guided him through the darkness. The Professor had brought him back to who and what he was: Dexter, Boy Genius. From here on out, he would only look forward, never back. "I_ am_ going to change the world," he vowed, "and it can't happen fast enough for me."

**_OoOoOoOoOoOoO_**

_There has to be an invisible sun  
It gives its heat to everyone  
There has to be an invisible sun  
That gives us hope when the whole day's done_

_Invisible Sun by The Police, 1981_


	23. Epilogue: The Guns of August

**Invisible Sun**

**Epilogue: The Guns of August**

"It's very different from travel by bus."

The driver, a young Army lieutenant on loan from General Shaan, smiled and glanced back at his passenger. If he was surprised to find himself at the beck and call of a twelve-year-old boy, DeShawn Washington gave no indication. It was a bright summer day, traffic was light, this was the easiest duty he had been given since joining the general's staff, and he had every opportunity and intention of enjoying himself. His passenger was polite and excited and his accent was thoroughly amusing. Moreover, he did not care what kind of music he heard and did not complain about country western.

"Smoother and faster I bet, sir," he said.

"Not to mention a lot more comfortable." He leaned over the seat. "Thank you again for driving me, Lieutenant Washington."

"Trust me, sir, it's my pleasure. Besides, a staff car and a driver are the least General Shaan could do after the extra work you put in on the plasma grenades to get them ready on time."

"You saw the demonstration?"

"Yes, sir. I was very impressed."

"I hope to improve them. I'm working on different dispersal patterns for various situations, plus a remote detonation and eventually a controlled dispersion of the plasma."

"Well, you sure made the general as happy as a kid at Christmas. Between the null-void rifle and the grenades, I don't think I've ever seen him smile so much."

"He smiled once."

"Exactly, sir."

Dexter chuckled and Washington grinned.

"How do you think of all that stuff?"

He shrugged. "I don't know. An idea comes to me and then I start to think of ways it can work differently or I see how a thing works and figure out how to make it better."

Washington glanced at the redhead leaning on the seat. "Did I hear the Coast Guard Commandant right, sir? Do you actually have a lawyer that's a mosquito?"

"Yes. That would be Mr. Antoine Mosco. He's one of the best lawyers in the state."

"And he's a mosquito," the lieutenant confirmed. "Like, in the vampire bug."

"Almost six feet tall and in a tailored suit, no less," Dexter replied with a grin. "A fitting career for a bloodsucking parasitic mutant, no? He said it was either law or politics for him. The president of DexLabs hired him for me."

"You're not the president of your own company?" exclaimed the lieutenant.

Dexter shook his head. "No. I'm the owner and in charge of the labs and development. Professor Utonium is the president. Really, he's the one all the brass should be courting, not me."

"You're the one that created the null-void, sir."

"But _he_ signs the contracts. I can't. I'm not old enough yet."

"You still in school?"

He cast the young officer a quick smile. "I'm out for summer vacation for the most part, but yes. Since this past winter I've had private tutors instead of attending elementary school, thankfully. Professor Utonium chose all my tutors and classes, so this year has been challenging for a change. It's fun. My favorite teacher is a demon."

"A demon? Where do you find these people, sir? I know General Shaan hangs out with an odd crowd, but bugs and demons?"

"Well, in the case of Mr. Green, he was substitute teaching in Townsville's elementary school system and the Powerpuff Girls knew him. Professor Utonium advertised for someone versed in particle physics theory and application, which Mr. Green is eminently qualified to teach."

"You're sure he's a demon?"

"Mmm. The billowing smoke and the horns coming out of his head are dead giveaways. I'm hoping he'll work for DexLabs someday soon."

The lieutenant guided the car through the trim suburban streets. "And this is school for you."

"For now. I'll graduate in a year or so anyway."

"Elementary school?"

"No. High school."

"And you're . . . how old?"

"Twelve."

"Not bad, sir."

"It helps having a two-star general and the Department of Defense on your side. They can work wonders with a school board . . . not to mention the Downtown Planning Board."

"I bet they can!" he laughed. "Almost there, sir."

Minutes later the staff car was pulling up to the curb and Washington gave him a snappy salute as he held the door open. Dexter blushed and laughed a bit as he climbed out of the car, carrying an attaché case that was heavy with papers. He shook the lieutenant's hand and thanked him again. As he walked to the front door, Dexter smiled to himself as he remembered how nervous he had been the first time he had seen this house, how astonished he had been by Buttercup and her sisters, how fortunate he counted himself today . . .

He was nervous again, but now it was a welcome sensation because on the surface it stemmed from excitement and not trepidation. The greater issues could wait for later. Time may not be their ally, but at the moment it was not Dexter's enemy. His gloved hand clutched the handle of the attaché a little tighter, and Dexter glanced down at the metal case that held the whole of his newly formed company's future. A quiet thrill passed through him. It wasn't just DexLabs' future. It was entirely his own as well. And here, in his hand, might just be Earth's future as well.

But first things first. He had messages to deliver and an obligation to fulfill. He could never fully repay Utonium, he knew, because Dexter owed him far more than mere money. But at least today would be a start.

The front door was yanked open a moment after he rang the bell and Buttercup, trying hard to suppress a happy smile, stood in the doorway with her hands on her hips and demanded, "Yeah, what do ya want, kid?"

Dexter smiled at her gruff greeting. So busy had he been with school and finding an adequate facility to set up production for his company that he had not seen the Utonium girls since their spring break. He was not in the least surprised (though a little disappointed) to note that Buttercup was already quite a bit taller than he was. Her face was losing its roundness and somehow she was even prettier than he remembered.

"_Dexter!" _

A streak of blue wove around Buttercup and suddenly Bubbles was squeezing the breath out of him. Another ecstatic shout, and then Blossom was there, kissing his cheek and shouting her congratulations over Bubbles' squeals. Not to be left out, Buttercup joined the noisy fray with a whoop and a tackling hug that sent them sprawling on the grass.

The Professor came to his rescue, laughing and happy as he untangled the knot of children on his front lawn. He waved to Washington to let the hovering officer know that all was well and his charge was safely delivered despite appearances.

"How did things go with the military?" asked Utonium, hauling him up by the hand. "Let go, Blossom!"

She giggled and released his arm, bouncing Dexter to his feet.

"I definitely like it more when you're there with me," admitted Dexter wryly. Today was the first time he had given a presentation of DexLabs' wares by himself, and he had been more nervous than he had ever anticipated. He picked up the attaché case, letting the Professor herd them inside and talking all the while. "But I suppose I'll get used to it eventually. The demonstration went as planned and I think everyone with a rank equivalent to colonel and above wants to be present when we unveil the Megabot 3000."

Utonium grinned, positively aglow with pride in his protege. "I know. General Shaan called. He said you did a great job with the material and you impressed Commandant Allen and the people from Lockheed-Martin. Forget NASA, they already think you walk on water. Shaan said we should get the first orders inside of two weeks and he wants us at Yuma when the Army demonstrates the new Bunker Buster at their Proving Ground. I think he's thinking of a plasma version."

"He thinks about nothing but shock waves, that man." Dexter sighed and let himself be overwhelmed for a moment. "And I just told the lieutenant I was on summer vacation? What was I thinking? Who goes to Yuma in _August_? On purpose?"

The girls laughed at his tone of voice, well aware that their chosen brother was reveling in the fast pace and intensity that had overtaken his whole life since the past autumn. Their only complaint was that they hardly got to see him anymore.

"Grossinger Biotech also called about the Megabot and the possibility of adapting the technology to prosthetic limbs. They'll be in touch on -"

"Okay," announced Buttercup. "No more boring science stuff!"

"Then I'll have nothing to talk about," Dexter replied.

"Oh, please. You're not _that_ boring. Talk about dinner," she countered. "Come on, we're all starving!"

They ate cheeseburgers and chili dogs and at dessert Dexter consumed all the leftover fruit from their strawberry shortcake. Inevitably, their conversation turned to DexLabs.

"You know that the Downtown Planning Board has approved my application to expand the facility at DexLabs HQ," he said, picking slices of fruit from the huge bowl before him. Dexter hadn't cottoned onto the fact that the Utoniums always doubled up on strawberries just because they knew he'd eat them all in one sitting. "Mr. Mosco recommends setting up another company purely for production. He said for legal purposes and insurance costs it would be a wise move, and after reviewing his plan, I agree. I brought his plan with me and I'd like to go over it with you, Professor."

"Tomorrow morning. After coffee," Utonium replied. "It will keep."

Dexter smiled and nodded, knowing he was being told to take it easy for a night.

"Hey, is that the bug guy?" wondered Buttercup.

"Yes, Buttercup," Dexter replied. "Mr. Mosco is a mosquito sport."

"I thought he was a lawyer," Bubbles exclaimed.

Utonium chuckled. "A sport is a genetic mutation."

"Don't let him find out that Bubbles ate a bug once," insisted the dark-haired girl, trying to get her sister riled. "He'll get scared."

Dexter gaped at Bubbles, who smiled winningly and nodded so hard her pigtails bobbed. Further down the table, Blossom leaned into her hand, shaking her head at the memory.

"A cockroach! It tasted like chicken."

"Please don't tell me any more, Bubbles," Dexter begged, pushing the nearly-empty bowl of strawberries away. Blossom shuddered and Buttercup snickered.

"A little barbeque sauce, some potato salad, and you got yourself a meal!" Buttercup went on, delighting in being able to gross out _someone. _Then again, Dexter was an easy target except when it came to vocabulary and math.

"I have something for you, Professor," Dexter said, hastily changing the topic. He adjusted his glasses in a classic Dexter gesture all of them (with the exception of the boy genius) recognized as a delaying tactic to rally his defenses. Thus warned, the Professor was ready when Dexter pulled a paper from the pocket of his lab coat and offered it to him.

"What's this?" asked he, taking it.

"Part of what I owe you."

Utonium stilled, and he did not unfold the paper. "You don't owe me anything, Dexter."

"I owe you a hundred thousand dollars. This is a partial payment." He gestured, and Utonium opened the check, read the amount, and handed it right back.

"Dexter, no. You need to put this money back into your company."

"I also need to make good on my promise to pay you back."

Utonium smiled gently. "_You_ said you'd pay me back. I never said I'd take it."

"But-"

"You haven't even paid me my salary!" the Professor exclaimed. "You still owe me three bucks, mister! Pay up!"

"Two!" Dexter instantly argued.

"I charge interest. Three."

Dexter fumed and fretted and finally admitted, "I don't have any money!"

"You never do. I've noticed that about you. No matter. I take checks."

He brandished the bank check for ten thousand dollars, slamming it down onto the table between them in frustration. "No, you don't!"

"I'll take one as a paycheck. Exact amounts only, please."

"I only brought the one!" squawked the boy.

Utonium sat back smugly. "Your lack of foresight may force me to go on strike. And don't even think of offering me a raise of ten thousand dollars until I get my base salary."

Dexter made a face, then looked down the table. "Blossom, lend me three dollars."

"No," was her prompt reply.

_"What?" _He whirled on her.

She smiled. "You just said you don't have any money, Dexter. You'll never pay me back."

Slack-jawed, he turned to the rest of his sisters. Taking their cue from Blossom, Bubbles shook her head with a big smile and a little sound of "Nnn-nnn!" while Buttercup glowered and said, "Forget it, Ginger Snap."

He groaned and dropped his head into his gloved hands. With a wicked little chuckle Utonium slid the check over to Dexter, tapping him in the elbow with it just to be annoying.

"I win," he said, making no attempt to hide his gloating.

A purple-clad glove slapped down onto the check and Dexter took it back with ill grace and a wry look. "This round only."

Utonium grinned at the challenge, knowing he could outfox his friend at least for the time being. "Take me on, boss-man." He looked at the rest of the children. "Who wants watermelon?"

**OoOoOoOoOoOoO**

They sat on the back patio, enjoying the night and the brilliant array of stars wheeling overhead. Despite the light from Townsville they could still see more stars than could be counted and the faint haze of the Milky Way stretching across the sky. The Powerpuff Girls had gone on a quick patrol of the city, leaving the men to clean up from dinner and lounge about in the sweltering heat of a midsummer night.

Dexter sighed in quiet content, listening to the katydids that filled the air with their music. This was the most extended peace he had known in months, and until this moment of relaxation he had not realized how much he had missed the occasional opportunity to simply stop and rest. He smiled his thanks as Utonium brought him another glass of barely-sweetened lemonade and tossed him a pillow to rest his head as they did some star gazing.

Though both scientists were better versed in astrophysics than astronomy, each had enough poetry in his soul to be able to enjoy the sheer beauty of the sky. Sliding down in his lounge chair and adjusting the pillow to get comfortable, Dexter smiled to hear the president of his company quietly release a long, deep breath of satisfaction. For a while they just watched the stars and the occasional plane heading to Townsville Jetport. Then Dexter shifted slightly to look at his friend and teacher and father.

"It's been a good year, hasn't it?" he asked softly.

He could hear the smile in Utonium's voice as he replied, "One of the best ever."

"I never knew how much was missing from my life until I met you and your daughters."

"I can say the same thing about meeting you."

Dexter cast him a happy smile and rolled to his side to drink some lemonade. "So you were missing paperwork and reviewing contracts and never getting paid by your rotten boss?"

"Oh, heck no. Those are all par for the course when you're a scientist. I was thinking more along the lines of being able to discuss topology and not having to explain jokes and having some backup when the girls decide to gang up on me." He sipped his own drink before smiling over the brim of his glass. He lifted his lemonade in salute. "So here's to you, Dexter, and to DexLabs."

"And to you, President Utonium, and to DexCorp."

They clinked the glasses together in a quiet toast to each other and the future. Dexter drained the icy drink, gasping at the cold before he dropped down onto his back to stare at the stars.

"Have you seen the latest pictures from the Hubble Telescope?" he finally asked, broaching the subject he had been avoiding since he arrived.

"That object they spotted past Haumea? Yes. From what I understand it's moving at a speed faster than the scientists that discovered it can explain."

"Yes, Mr. Green and I were discussing it earlier this week. From the reports published by the IAU and NASA, at its present course and speed the object will reach the inner solar system within twenty-eight months."

"If their calculations are correct that thing is massive."

Dexter looked at him, concern showing in his eyes. "It is. Even more disturbing, it seems to be moving on a set trajectory."

"I hadn't heard that. You're sure?"

"Unfortunately, yes."

"Dexter?"

"I didn't want to speak in front of the girls, but . . . I had a talk with General Shaan today and . . . well, there's a reason he's been so keen on developing the null-void as quickly as possible and it has everything to do with that object."

Utonium's voice was deadly serious. "Invasion?"

"Or worse."

"Oh. And they think the null-void will work against . . . whatever it is trying to sneak up on us?" As he spoke, he sat up, swinging his long legs off the lounge to face his companion.

"They know it will."

"How?"

Dexter imitated the Professor's stance. They were almost knee-to-knee, and their voices were soft as the immensity of their discussion struck them both.

"All those weapons we've made for the Army? Not a one of them remains on this planet. They've been sent to a moon several light years away called Daving Su, by a secret, interstellar policing organization known only as The Plumbers."

"Of which, I take it, Shaan is one?" Utonium asked without a hint of doubt or surprise.

"Yes. Apparently he's been waiting for me to create something so radical as the null-void, which is why he was notified as soon as I applied for a patent and why he pushed my application through so quickly. Daving Su's system was invaded by beings from that object approaching us. The other inhabited planets were wiped out, but the people on this moon managed to successfully hold off the invading creatures using null-void weaponry."

"And we're next?"

Dexter nodded silently.

The Professor drew a deep breath. "He knows you're telling me this?"

"He asked me to. He wants to talk to us both at the Army Proving Ground."

"Yuma in August. I can't wait." He sighed. "Dexter?"

"Yes, Professor?"

"Just so you know that Shaan is deadly serious, he was going to finance the null-void if I hadn't."

Dexter made no effort to hide his surprise. "They're that desperate?" mused the boy genius.

"No," Professor Utonium replied, completely sincere. "They have that much faith in you."

The redhead fell silent, considering. Finally he dared venture, "And you?"

Utonium smiled, reaching across to clasp the boy's hand in both of his own. Dexter looked down at those strong, gentle hands, knowing that no matter what happened, what challenges or problems arose in his life and in the world, Utonium would be there. His faith in Dexter was an absolute, and that faith was the foundation upon which Dexter had built his future.

And with it, he was building the Earth's best hope of survival.

"Do you need me to say it?"

It was a tremendous burden, but one he knew that he did not have to carry alone.

He tightened his hold on this man that was more of a father to him than his real father, and despite the gravity of what they faced, Dexter smiled as he replied,

"No."

_-Fin-_


End file.
